


Not Anymore

by shnarf9892



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword
Genre: Action, Action/Adventure, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Blood, Blood and Gore, Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, The Triforce, Trauma, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-02
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-02-09 16:17:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 30,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12891759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnarf9892/pseuds/shnarf9892
Summary: Three days, Link had promised. Three days he would be gone before he'd check in and resupply in Skyloft. When three became five, Pipit grew restless. On day seven, he threw caution to the wind and leapt off his loftwing to plummet below the cloud barrier in search of his childhood friend. What he found there made him want to cry in his mother's arms. Or vomit. Maybe both.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted do Fanfiction.net and Deviantart, same username and everything.
> 
> Rated M for violence, very dark themes, some language, and PTSD/depression triggers. I did NOT write this with the intent that minors would read it, and as an adult story, I go into some dark but real issues. This is not a torture fic...but it comes fairly close at times. You'll see what I mean as you read it. THERE ARE NO LEMONS OR CITRUS IN THIS STORY. There isn't even anything remotely close. If you came here just for that, then you won't find what you're looking for. Sorry-not-sorry. However, if you're one for developed characters, thrilling action sequences, and nonstop suspense, then this is the story for you.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

"Well," the white clad demon frowned upon inspecting the sides of the hero's head, "your ears aren't bleeding after all. What a shame." Ghirahim clicked his tongue in disappointment and shook his head slowly. As he paced back and forth, surveying his handiwork, the demon continued, "However, your…how should I put it, your everything else  _is_. So I'm going to give you a bit of a break so you can think long and hard about where that cursed little Goddess of yours is hiding." He sounded like a parent talking to a young, misbehaving child. The hero, fighting the blackness encroaching around the edges of his vision, glared up at his captor, wishing he wasn't so utterly helpless.

Ghirahim rolled his eyes at the pitiful act of defiance. "Oh, you  _will_ tell me, my dear boy. I'll coax it out of you one way or another." Link struggled to keep eye contact with the demon, but he was quickly losing strength. His head slowly drooped back down as he focused solely on breathing in and out. The heat was suffocating. The pain was relentless. Each ragged breath was a struggle.

"Stay alive for me, will you?" Ghirahim doted. "I'll be back in a few hours for some more fun. Ta-ta!" Before his captor had even left the room, blackness consumed the hero's vision.

* * *

The sulfurous air of Eldin volcano burned Pipit's lungs as he continued towards the center of the fiery mountain. The sound of armed swine-man-things echoed around the corner. What the hell were those monsters? What had the old lady called them? Bo...koblins? Sure, he'd go with bokoblins for now. Whatever they were actually called, it didn't do them justice. Those things were horrifying. Trying to stifle the sound of his panting, Pipit ducked behind a boulder and waited. He prayed fervently to the Goddesses that the pig-like goblins wouldn't notice the terrified boy in the sweat-soaked mustard tunic as they marched past.

 _I am in way over my head,_  the teen thought to himself, feeling foolish for coming so ill-prepared. Granted, he hadn't realized that he would be infiltrating a mountain of molten rock. But still, his knight training dictated that he be prepared for anything, which he most definitely was not. His water skin was practically empty, and he had already downed one of his two red potions to ease the pain of the ankle he had twisted landing on the Surface. Thank the Goddesses that the old lady had convinced him not to chug them both, because if Pipit made the slightest wrong move now, he would be needing more than just a measly red concoction. Landing on the Surface was rougher than Pipit had expected. He had hastily snipped a large rectangle off of Groose's bedsheet to use as a makeshift sail cloth (like Groose would miss it, being on the Surface), but the smelly fabric was too thin to slow his descent to a more manageable speed. Thus the twisted ankle. And shortage of potions.

So things were going great.

The Bokoblin-things rounded another corner and disappeared out of earshot before the young knight-in-training released the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Crouching down, he ventured further into the mountain, trying to stick to the shadows as much as possible…which was getting more and more difficult as he neared the glowing center of the volcano.

 _If I don't find him soon,_ the boy tried to reason,  _then he's probably fine and just ventured on to his next destination without visiting Skyloft_. He refused to let his brain dwell on the more probable alternatives, but the sinking feeling in his gut remained. Truth be told, Pipit was terrified; terrified for his own sake as he invaded enemy territory, but more terrified for Link's. Three days, Link had promised. Three days he would be gone before he'd check in back in and resupply in Skyloft. Those three days had come and gone, and Pipit began to worry for his friend. When three days turned into five, Pipit grew restless. On day seven, he threw caution to the wind and leapt off of his Loftwing to plummet below the cloud barrier in search of his childhood friend. Hopefully his mother and Karane wouldn't worry too much. He had lied and told them that he would be doing some required knight training off the main island and wouldn't be able to visit for a few days. Required? Well, no. And calling it "training" now seemed like the understatement of the century.

Another corner rounded, another spike in the temperature. The chainmail seemed to scald his skin through his undershirt. Pipit had no idea how much more of this aimless wandering he could endure. He really hoped he wasn't lost. Each time the ambient temperature increased, his hopes fell. Trying not to think of the confusing return trip he would inevitably have to make, he took a slow breath in an attempt to calm his frazzled nerves. The putrid air that filled his lungs only made his stomach knot up with nausea. In all reality, it was probably the combination of fear and his nerves that had him queasy, but he shook his head and blamed it on the stale stench of sulfur.

 _Finally, a door!_  In the distance, the door seemed to shimmer and waver in the sweltering heat. As he approached, Pipit's hesitant excitement was slowly overtaken by fear once again. There was no telling what was behind this door. It could be an army of Bokoblins, or worse, Lizalfos. Or it could be yet another pit of lava and fire keese. There was only one way to find out. Pipit steeled his nerves and reached towards the handle…

…which was locked.

"Damn it all to the Surface!" Pipit cursed under his breath. He paced in front of the ornate metal door. Of course  _this one_ was locked! Nobody would be foolish enough to leave anything of importance behind an unlocked door, especially one tucked so far into  _an erupting volcano_. This room was practically at the center of the mountain anyway. No one wanted to cook themselves alive, so why bother locking the doors? It seemed pointless…unless…

Oh.

Right.

Maybe he was more tired than he realized.

Resolve renewed, the young knight-in-training backed up, took a breath, and threw his shoulder into the door. Over and over, the boy rammed into the door, loosening it little by little. "Come on.  _Come on!_ " he coaxed, becoming more agitated as his shoulder grew sore. Just as he was getting ready to give up and search for another entrance, the door burst open. Pipit tumbled into the massive room with all the grace of a drunken Kikwi. Scrambling back on his feet, he whipped out the sword he had stolen from the Skyloft armory, lest any monsters had already moved in to attack. Sword in hand, his eyes darted around the room, searching for foes. When he found even the high cave ceiling to be void of keese, he felt himself relax a touch. He let down his defensive posture, but kept the sword in hand as he took a more thorough survey of his surroundings.

Essentially, the room was empty and slightly cooler than the labyrinth of hallways leading to it. The floor beneath his boots was a beautifully tiled mosaic of the fire dragon himself. Why create such an intricate masterpiece in the center of a volcano? Pipit didn't know, but he was certainly impressed. The torchlight danced across the tiles, revealing small spots of crusted, ruddy dirt. There was a distinct trail of the brown splotches, and upon closer inspection, Pipit's heart sank. It was not dirt. It was dried blood.

Following the trail, Pipit wheeled around towards the back corner of the room. What he saw made him want to cry in his mother's arms. Or vomit. Maybe both.

"Oh, Goddesses,  _LINK_!"

* * *

He floated in an ocean of black. It gripped him tightly, drowning the hero in emptiness. Surprisingly, he felt comfortable and at peace. But something wasn't right. He couldn't place it, but it didn't really bother him. Somewhere, someone was calling out. It sounded like a male voice, perhaps familiar. He couldn't be sure. A name, maybe. Whose name was that? The voice sounded panicked as it echoed through the all encompassing shadows. Was that his name? He didn't even know. Unable to think through the fog, he thought about falling back into the void of emptiness he had been a moment ago. It would be so easy to let the nothingness consume him once more. It was rather lonely, though. Wasn't there someone he was looking for?

Memories, fuzzy through the haze of darkness, seemed to glow in his mind. A warm laugh. Bright, cerulean eyes. The slightly floral scent of her golden hair.

 _Zelda_.

The memory of her seemed to fight back the cold darkness threatening to overtake him once again. He struggled against the black tendrils holding his consciousness, pushing forward towards a growing light with renewed determination. The voice called out again. The hero focused on the sound, using it to pull himself out of the cold blackness. It sounded thick, garbled, and distant. As he fought the arms imprisoning him, the voice became clearer and the light grew stronger.

"…Llllll…iiiiinnnnnk…? …Lliiink…caanyooo heeaar me? Link!  _Answer me, damnit_!"

The sea of blackness shattered and fell away, and a torrent of agony flooded the battered hero. Oh, Goddesses, everything hurt. His head was pounding. Broken ribs shifted painfully with every breath. A particularly deep gash across his abdomen throbbed with each heartbeat. The caked layer of blood baked onto his skin hid the bruises from view, but he felt each one. His shoulders ached from being strung up by the wrists, which were inflamed and raw from straining against his shackles. The burns across his bare back stung each time the air shifted. It was too much. The blackness encroached upon him again, and he struggled to retain some level of consciousness. If he went back into that void, he wouldn't return from it.

_Clang!_

Link didn't even have time to wonder what that sound could have been before his arms were loosened and he crumpled onto the warm tile. He groaned at the wave of pain that shot through his body. Fighting the darkness, he focused on taking one ragged breath at a time. It was as if someone was sitting on his chest, stabbing knives into his torso. Never before had it been this hard to breathe.

He felt himself being hastily turned over. Was someone…holding him? Shaking him gently?

"Link, wake up!" that same voice pleaded. "Come on, buddy. Open your eyes!" His eyelids felt like lead, but he managed to open them halfway. Blurred blotches danced in his vision, swimming with each labored inhalation. Link's eyes fluttered shut once more and his head lolled in his rescuer's arm. The darkness was returning.

* * *

A quiet, strained groan escaped Link's parched lips and relief washed over Pipit. Link was alive. Pipit had found him. Fumbling through his pouch, he grasped the single remaining red potion. Mentally kicking himself for drinking the other one, he tipped a tiny bit into Link's mouth. It dripped down his throat, throwing him into a convulsive fit of coughing. Pipit, now more terrified than ever, felt utterly helpless as his childhood friend struggled just to breathe. He could only hold the hero and wait until his weak friend's chest stopped spasming. Red liquid dribbled down Link's chin, and Pipit realized not all of it was the potion. Finally gasping for air, Link felt something cool being pressed once again to his lips.

"Drink it, Link. Please drink it," Pipit pleaded as he tipped the liquid into the hero's mouth once again. Praying for the goddesses' intervention in this hopeless situation, Pipit glanced down at the damage. Link's tunic and chainmail were nowhere to be seen. A few links of chain dangled from the rusty shackles still clamped around his wrists. The once khaki pants were now torn, stained, and crusted with blood from recent wounds. Even the soles of his leather boots were thin and burnt.

"Goddesses, Link. What happened to you?" he whispered, not wanting to know the answer to his question.

Finally, the hero swallowed some of the potion. Pipit waited as patiently as he could before offering more. It was an agonizingly slow process, and Pipit was anxious to get out of there before Link's tormenter came back. Finally, Link finished off the potion and his eyes fluttered open. It was a few moments before his eyes focused and found his older friend.

"P…Pipit?" the boy croaked out in a hoarse whisper. "What…what are you…" Link winced and shifted a bit in Pipit's arms. It was taking too long for the potion to take effect.

"You didn't show up, so I came looking for you," Pipit replied, answering Link's unfinished question. "And it's a damn good thing I did, too."

Link's labored breathing was starting to even out. He felt some energy slowly start to come back to him, and the mental fog cleared a bit. Thankfully, some of the pain was beginning to lessen as the potion finally did its job. He was still in agony, but he wasn't drowning in the pain anymore.

"I don't have much," Pipit sighed as he pulled out his water skin, "but here's some water." Link's eyes went wide and he reached up with shaking hands, downing the rest of the precious liquid in two swallows. He handed the drained leather pouch back to Pipit. The broken chains attached to the iron cuffs on his wrists jangled with each movement of his arm. After catching his breath (or, rather, attempting to), Link had his friend help him into a sitting position. The gash in his abdomen throbbed, and the change in position threw Link into another violent coughing fit. His fractured ribs screamed at him and he wrapped an arm around his torso to somehow ease the pain. Blood trickled down his chin, and he spat it out of his mouth.

 _Goddesses…_  Pipit thought in horror. Trying not to imagine what Link had endured to obtain such wounds, he put the hero's arm around his shoulders. "Link, we have to get out of here…" he said, the fear evident in his voice. Link nodded, still wincing in pain. "Okay, one…two…three!" Pipit hoisted his friend up to a standing position. The floor seemed to shift and roll beneath Link's feet. He wavered and his knees buckled, but Pipit held him up. "You alright?" he asked the hero, who nodded weakly in reply. Pipit didn't believe him, but continued anyway, "Let's go before whoever did this comes back."

Link shook his head and stopped Pipit. "Wait," he rasped. "My gear."

Pipit's jaw dropped. "Link, you can't be serious."

Link looked into his friend's eyes and simply stated, "Potions."

Pipit sighed. "I can't believe we are doing this right now," he said as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Helping his friend stay vertical, the pair made their way out of the mosaic room in search of Link's sword and items, ducking enemies along the way.

* * *

"Sword, shield, bow, quiver…" Pipit muttered to himself, mentally checking items off of their list. Link peered around the corner with blade and shield in hand, checking for lurking bokoblins. The three potions in his pouches had seemed to revitalize the hero. The wounds still remained, but he stood strong and confident. It was as if the injuries no longer pained the blonde. Pipit had wrapped strips of his bedsheet-sailcloth around the deep laceration in Link's torso, utilizing their limited supplies as makeshift bandages. Crimson had already soaked through, contrasting starkly against the white bedsheet. Link tightened his pouch belt around his bare waist, making do without his other garments. Pipit spoke up, "The last things we need are your tunic and chainmail, right?"

Still checking around the corner, Link replied, "I don't have a tunic anymore." His voice, still low and hoarse, portrayed no emotion.

Pipit's brow furrowed. "What do you mean you don't have a tunic anymore? Where did it go?" When Link pursed his parched lips and didn't respond, the young knight pressed further, "What happened—?"

Bloodshot, cerulean eyes flashed with anger and fear in the volcanic glow. Link's fierce gaze alone cut Pipit off before the hero slowly stated, "You don't want to know." Pipit gulped and dropped his gaze to the floor. Link softened a bit upon seeing his naïve friend put the pieces together in horror. The hero sighed and attempted to run his fingers through his hair, but the bloodied and matted locks would not allow passage. "Sorry," Link relented as he untangled his fingers and wiped them down his sweat-glazed face. "It has been a long week."

Pipit's gaze shifted back to Link, and with macabre bewilderment in his eyes he half-chuckled, "That might be the understatement of the year." If not for the gravity of the situation, the pair would have been amused. Instead, Link gave a one-sided smirk and turned back to the intersection, motioning for Pipit to follow. Link clutched the short lengths of chain attached to his shackles in his hands, silencing their jangling as the pair snuck down the hallway to the next corner.

When they found no adversaries in sight, Link crouched down on his heels and began drawing a crude map in the volcanic dirt. Pipit took the opportunity to ask, "How are you holding up?"

Without looking up, Link replied flatly, "I'm completely numb. Can't feel a thing. I don't think that will last much longer, though. I give it maybe seven minutes before the potions start to wear off, if we're lucky." Pipit pursed his lips in worry as the hero put the finishing touches on the map.

"This," the blonde instructed as he tapped a point on the map, "is where we are right now. We need to get to the loftwing statue, which is here." He tapped the bird icon with his other hand. As he began indicating the winding path they would need to take, the hero continued, "We are almost to the volcano's edge. Once we are out there, we'll have troupes of patrolling bokoblins to sneak past. The watchtowers," he noted as he drew in their respective markings, "will pay special attention to the guards' blind spots." Link looked up at his mustard-clad friend and said rather bluntly, "This is not going to be easy, and there are no shortcuts."

Pipit gulped and nodded. "So how do we do this?" he asked.

Link stood and took the Master Sword in hand again. "We have two possibilities. Option one: we try and sneak past everyone. While we will have fewer fights and the cover of night, this will take some time, and I'll be dead weight once these potions wear off. Option two: we make a break for it, fighting our way out where necessary." Pipit attempted to voice his objections to the perceived no-win scenarios, but Link interrupted, "There are no good options here, and we don't have much time."

Pipit hesitantly took in a breath of sulfurous air and began "I vote—"

Suddenly, a tremor shot through the ground, shaking the rock beneath their feet. Echoes of crashes and explosions emanated from the center of the volcano. Screams of rage reached the knights'-in-training ears, and any remaining color drained from Link's face. A furious voice snarled, "FIND HIM!" and the distant howls of bokoblins bounced off of the igneous walls.

Battered and burned, Link gripped the Master sword tightly and yelled "Run!"


	2. Chapter 2

Sprinting past watchtowers, the pair vaulted over crudely constructed barricades. Bokoblins screeched as they caught sight of the fleeing knights and ran after them in pursuit. Horns sounded in alarm. Frantic, Link and Pipit launched themselves over a stream of glowing lava, huffing as they caught their footing on the rough gravel. With each stride, the blue and gold scabbard slapped painfully against the exposed wounds on Link's bare torso. One by one, the watchtower spotlights found the Skyloft knights as they bounded away from the volcanic temple. The pig-like bokoblins were everywhere. Link and Pipit avoided them where possible, but as more and more poured in, it became clear that they would have to fight their way out. With a wet squelch, Link cut down the brown-skinned foe directly in their path and pressed on.

Pipit panted as he pumped his legs. The oppressive blasts of dry heat from the molten streams below burned the air in his lungs and caused his eyes to water. The ever-present ash cloud coated his already parched mouth with a film of filth. The loftwing statue was in sight, but the lake of sputtering lava between the it and the knights made a direct route impossible. He fearfully glanced over his shoulder at the army of swine tailing them and willed his legs to move faster. Link was beginning to slow, and Pipit caught up to him as they neared an elevation change on the path. Link gasped for breath and winced with each step as he fell further behind his uninjured friend. Pipit's heart sank.

_Shit_ , he realized.  _His potions are wearing off. We don't have much time._

The older brunette leapt and hoisted himself up onto the ledge. "Take my hand!" he shouted to the hero as he extended his arm. Link stumbled as he neared the ledge, but managed to jump up and lock his hand around Pipit's forearm. The hero let out a strangled cry as the yellow-clad knight heaved him up onto the higher path. With Pipit's assistance, Link staggered to his feet and the pair surged forward with Pipit in the lead.

Link struggled to keep up as the last of the potions' numbing effects faded away. The agony had returned. His lungs burned. He couldn't get enough air. The cloud of hot soot was suffocating. Every lunge, every step, every breath was torturous. Pipit was pulling further and further ahead, and Link could not keep an even pace. Still, he stumbled onwards, determined to make it to the statue. His breaths came in pained whimpers and ragged gasps. Each jarring jolt of his foot on the stone shot a bolt of pain through his body. His vision was starting to blur around the edges. Another volcanic explosion shook the ground. The world seemed to shift and roll, and Link's legs gave out from underneath him.

Pipit heard a pained shout behind him and turned to watch his closest friend bounce and roll to a stop. "Link!" he cried out as he skidded to a halt. He started to backpedal to his fallen comrade, but a group of snarling Bokoblins rounded the corner and clanged their weapons together, cutting off the path to the statue. The goblins in pursuit caught up as well, laughing at the surrounded pair. Pipit brandished his stolen sword and slowly backed up towards Link, who lay on his side on the hot stone coughing violently. But before he could get close, the Bokoblins in front of him surged forward, locking the inexperienced knight in a deadly dance of dodge, parry, and counter.

Sparks flew as hardened steel clashed against crudely forged iron. "Get up, Link!," Pipit called out over his shoulder as he shoved his sword forwards, overpowering the pig engaging him. "We're almost there!"

The hero's limbs shook as he forced himself over onto his hands and knees, ignoring the grit grinding into his burns. His heart raced, frantically trying to pump blood he didn't have to limbs that didn't want to respond. His chest heaved, struggling to suck in enough oxygen. His shattered ribs screamed in protest. His head pounded with such ferocity that it made his vision swim. Yet he refused to give up. His body was broken, but his spirit refused to yield.

"Damnit, Link. GET UP!" Pipit screamed as he narrowly missed a thrust to his chest. The bokoblins were dumb and easy to overpower in small numbers, but there were just too many of them. The endless combat was wearing out the young knight. One strike burst through Pipit's guard and slashed his cheek open, but he gritted his teeth and hastily countered with a lethal blow to the pig's exposed torso. But that left Pipit off balance and wide open. With an angry grin, a decorated goblin leapt forward with an enormous, grimy cleaver and slashed at the man's side with a sickening crunch. The blow knocked Pipit off his feet and sent him sprawling towards the edge of the ledge. He wheezed as the scorching sulfurous air took its time returning to his lungs. He clutched his throbbing ribs, expecting to feel blood. When his hands came away dry, Pipit was suddenly grateful for the thirty pounds of mail he wore under his tunic.

Pipit scrambled to his feet with a wince as the hog men approached. They snickered and snorted as the huffing knight brandished his sword and shield in a futile display of feigned courage. Eyes darting back and forth over the mass of Bokoblins fanning out in front of him, Pipit felt a wave of panic wash over him. His eyes widened. The stench of decaying flesh and rotten eggs assaulted his nose and he swallowed back the bile rising in his throat.

They were going to kill him.

There were too many. He couldn't fight them all. It was a suicide mission. He was about to be slaughtered at the hands of putrid swine. They laughed as his courage fell away and his shoulders slumped. The tip of his skyloft blade slowly descended towards the ashy dirt. There was no way out.

He was going to die.

_"Good luck, Pipit!" Karane's sweet voice called out as she jogged over to him. She had come to see him off for his "required training," and he was glad to have her there calming his nerves. It was pitch black and the night patrol knights were about to change shifts. His loftwing was loaded up and waiting for its flight through the cool darkness. Other than his mother, Karane was the only person he had told about the training. He hadn't expected her to show up as he was leaving, though. "Now don't get so caught up in this training that you forget your promise," she smiled as she poked his left shoulder, emphasizing her point. His mind blanked. Promise? Crap, what did he promise her? He had been so worried about Link that he could not for the life of him remember what she was talking about. Karane didn't seem to notice the confused and slightly panicked look on his face in the darkness because she continued, "I'm so excited to see the hatchlings!"_

_That's right! The hatchlings! He had stumbled upon a nest the other day and wanted to show her the clumsy little fluff balls. But with the gravity of his missing friend weighing down on him, it was difficult to be excited about such a trivial thing, even if it was for the girl he liked. He put on a smile anyway and nodded. He turned away and looked over his shoulder at the pillar of red light emanating from below the cloud barrier. There was no telling what he would find on the surface. Only the goddesses knew where Link was or if he would even make it back to Skyloft alive._

_"Worried about the training?" she asked after a silent pause. He sighed and nodded, not making eye contact as he absent mindedly scratched the back of his neck. Her scarlet hair glinted in the moonlight as she stepped closer. "Don't worry, Pipit. You're one of the best knights in the senior class. I'm sure you'll be-" Karane was cut off as Pipit unexpectedly pulled her into a tight embrace. "Pipit…" she breathed, eyes wide in surprise. He inhaled the scent of her strawberry hair, savoring the warmth of her form against his. He didn't know if he would ever see her again, and he wanted to remember this moment._

_Just as suddenly as the embrace had begun, Pipit pulled away. Karane stood in stunned silence as the handsome knight stared at the ground before her feet. "I…," he began, but his loftwing interrupted with a quiet squawk and the ruffling of its feathers. It craned its neck around the corner before looking at its rider, shifting its weight back and forth between its talons. The bird's message was clear: the guards were about to change watch. If he didn't leave now, they would haul him back to the academy, and he would miss his only chance. Pipit nodded to his loftwing and turned to Karane, who had crossed her arms._

_"What's going on?" she asked, concern laced in her voice. She was starting to suspect that something was amiss._

_"I have to go. I'm sorry," he said as he backed up towards his loftwing. Once he was atop his mount, he called out just loud enough for her to hear, "I'll take you to see the hatchlings when I get back." She nodded, face wrought with confusion and worry. She called something out to him, but his mount had already leapt off the ledge. He couldn't hear her over the rush of the wind in his ears. He would have to ask her about it when he returned._

The Bokoblins pounded the dirt with their weapons, snorting in malicious glee as they slowly marched closer to the Skyloft knight.

_"How should we celebrate?" His mother asked, beaming with pride. With the small loftwing statuette clutched in his hand, Pipit and his mother walked from the Goddess statue to her homely cottage. He grinned and ran his thumb over the textured feathers carved into the wood. He had done it. All of the training he and his tawny loftwing had endured together had paid off, and the trophy in his hand was proof of it. Honestly, the winner could have just as easily been one of the other riders; the race was incredibly close. Pipit had dived down seemingly out of nowhere and snagged the statuette at the last second. A moment later, and he would have lost. Nonetheless, he was proud of the stiff, mustard yellow tunic on his torso. It didn't want to lay quite right on him, though. The thick, starched fabric seemed a tad too large on his lean frame. Maybe he'd get it taken in a bit if he scraped up some more rupees, but for now, he would have to make do._

_"It will soften up as you wear it," Mallara said, noticing as her son absentmindedly scratched at the collar of his new uniform. "Now, back to the original question." By now, they had arrived home. She flung the door open as she asked, "How about we go grab dinner at the Lumpy Pumpkin?"_

_A cloud of dust and dirt greeted Pipit as he stepped into their shared home. The grime blanked any and all available surfaces, obscuring them past the point of recognition. For the love of Hylia, had the woman never seen a broom before? Dishes crusted with dried food remnants were piled up in the sink, and Pipit had to fan the airborne dust away from his face as he crossed the small home. Was he leaving footprints again? Yes, those were definitely footprints. Mallara had at least week's worth of cleaning ahead of her. Once more, she had let it go for far too long. She hated cleaning with every fiber of her being and regularly joked that she was going to eventually break down and pay someone to do the dirty work for her, not that they had the money for such extravagance._

_Pipit wasn't sure how to respond to his mother's generous offer. They weren't exactly financially blessed. Regularly, his mother made do with less so she could pay Pipit's tuition at the academy, and Pipit lived at home instead of forking over the extra rupees to stay in the dormitories. How could she afford to treat him if she was barely getting by?_

_"Mom," he answered with a knowing sadness in his voice, "there isn't any bread in the bread box, and the cupboards are empty."_

_Mallara broke eye contact and stared at the floor. She knew her son was right. They couldn't go. She sighed and uncomfortably fiddled with the mess of curly, brown hair hanging at her shoulders. They had struggled through poverty for more than a decade now. She scrimped and saved every rupee, but with a teenage boy to feed, a mortgage payment due, rising tuition costs, and no other source of income to ease the scarcity, they simply couldn't afford the luxury of eating out._

_She pursed her lips together and whispered, "I know. I just…" She trailed off and turned away from her son to stare out the window at the more well-dressed families enjoying the sunny day. The dark inside of the rather empty house oppressed the joy the pair had shared just moments earlier. It stood as a reminder of their meager situation. Their house wasn't filthy because Mallara was lazy. Quite the opposite, actually; she spent every waking moment working at the academy or doing odd jobs to pay the bills, and thus, she was only at home to sleep for a few hours each night. If not for the employee discount on Pipit's tuition, she wouldn't have been able to afford to send him to school at all. The filter of dirt on the windows robbed the incoming sunlight of its cheer, thieving away the warm yellow tones and leaving behind only the listless gray. As she stared longingly out the glass, she relented, "I just wish that I could treat you once in a while."_

_Pipit stepped closer to his mother and put his hand on her shoulder, turning her away from the longing of a better life. Looking into her somber, blue eyes, he said, "Mom, it's okay. You're doing the best you can, and that's enough for me. It always will be." The sorrow lessened a bit and a small smile curved across her face as she nodded. "Besides," Pipit added with a grin, "I didn't have to pay for this uniform, and the material seems sturdy enough to last me for a while. Now that I'm officially a Skyknight, I'll be able to take night patrol jobs to help pay for my school fees. You won't have to work so hard anymore."_

_At this, the despondence returned to her eyes. "But Pipit," she said with a sad frown, "you're still just a kid. You shouldn't have to worry about providing for me. That's my responsibility, not yours."_

_"Even so, you shouldn't have to bear it alone." Mallara's gaze returned to meet her son's. His jaw was set and his eyebrows were raised. His mind was made up, and there would be no telling him otherwise. For a moment, she was no longer gazing up at her son; she was staring at her late husband. He had given her that same look time and time again, as he gently lifted the worries off of her shoulders and placed them onto his own. She did not know how her son had become so much like his father despite being so young when he had died. The tears welling in her eyes threatened to spill over as she silently admired the young man her son was becoming._

_Seeing the emotion in his mother's eyes, Pipit pulled her in close for a hug. "We might not have chosen these circumstances, but we're in this together," he quietly declared. They were silent for a moment as Mallara tightly embraced her only son. He was a good head taller than her now. When had that happened?_

_She pulled away as the embrace ended. "I have a gift for you," she revealed with a gentle smile before she turned to rummage underneath her bed._

_"A gift?" Pipit repeated, frustrated that his mother would spend her own food money on a trinket for him. "Not to sound ungrateful, Mom, but we don't have the rupees for gifts. I mean, I appreciate the thought, but-"_

_"Relax, Pipit," she replied as she waved a hand in dismissal. "I didn't buy this. I saved it for you." With a grunt, she hefted up a small chest. The action puffed up enough dust to make both of them cough and fan the dirt away from their faces again. She brought it over to Pipit and set it on the table beside them. Confused, he looked between the chest and his mother. "Well, go on," she coaxed with a smile. "Open it already."_

_Inside was a garment of perfectly interwoven metal rings. Pipit pulled it out of the box, unfolded it, and held it up in the light. While it was clearly not new, it had been very well maintained. "Is this…?" he trailed off, glancing back up at his mother with his mouth agape._

_"It was your father's chainmail," she replied quietly, awash with nostalgia._

_Pipit was flabbergasted. "This…this is incredible, Mom!" he exclaimed. "I didn't realize that you had managed to save it! I had heard the accident was awful, so I assumed that all of his gear was long gone."_

_Mallara shifted her gaze to the floor again. An uncomfortable silence passed before she explained, "It was the only thing that could be saved." Feeling awkward, Pipit pressed his lips together and nodded slowly. After a moment, he turned his attention back to the mail in his hands, eyes roving over its length, searching for defects or missing links. Mallara snapped out of the painful memory and said, "Try it on. You are about the same size he was, so I think it will fit you."_

_Pipit quickly shed his stiff tunic and shimmied into the heavy mail hauberk. After once again donning his uniform and buckling his belts in place, he smoothed everything out and gave himself a once-over. With the chainmail underneath, the tunic actually fit quite well. He wouldn't need to have it altered after all. Looking back up at his mother, he asked, "What do you think?"_

_She was silent. She couldn't stop staring at him. With the entire ensemble on, he looked just like her late husband, freckles and all. Mallara shook her head slightly in disbelief. Tears glistened in her eyes once more. Her bottom lip quivered slightly and her voice cracked as she answered her son._

_"Your father would have been so proud."_

A pulse of dry heat blasted upwards from the sputtering molten chasm behind him, spewing droplets of molten rock up into the air. Pipit straightened his shoulders as the Bokoblins sauntered closer. The decorated swine from before raised his cleaver to deliver the final blow.

_It always rained on days like this._

_Three loftwings stood unmoving behind three identical wooden caskets laden with flowers. Their feathers were greasy and unkempt. Their eyes, dull and glazed over, as if life itself had been sucked out of their souls. They hadn't even bothered to clean their talons, and a caked layer of dried blood and mud clung to the exposed skin on their feet. They could have been sculptures if not for the steady rise and fall of their chests and occasional listless blink of their eyes._

_All of Skyloft had gathered for the sending of their three beloved knights. Nobody would tell him outright what happened, but he heard the whispers. An accident, they had said. An accident that claimed three of their finest but spared their loftwings. To his left, his mother sobbed openly, wailing for her heart that would never be whole again. Tears streamed down his own young face as he stared at the box housing his father's remains. He barely even heard the priest as he began the sending ceremony. Silently, he prayed that through some miracle, Daddy wasn't gone. No, he was merely sleeping._

_He would wake up soon, right?_

_The priest finished the opening prayer and cleared his throat. When he opened his mouth next, a haunting melody came forth. One that spoke of the beauty of life and the stark sting of death and how it was all part of an unending cycle that was somehow beautiful amidst the pain. Being naught but a young child, Pipit didn't understand how anyone could possibly call death beautiful. It was awful. It was as if someone had reached into his chest and ripped out his heart, leaving behind only an onslaught of pain and a gaping hole. A hole that ate away at him. A hole that had his mind begging to wake up, as if it was some horrible nightmare. A hole that could never be filled again._

" _You promised…" Pipit whimpered as the priest sang. "You promised you would teach me how to ride a loftwing…" He trailed off as his throat closed up with a repressed sob. He continued, his shaking voice barely above a whisper, "Who is going to teach me now?"_

_Hearing the cries of his young heart, his mother knelt down and drew him in for a hug. They clutched each other tightly as they wept, their cries joining the hymn being sung by all of Skyloft. Eventually their sobbing mellowed down to sniffles and whimpers as the priest continued on with the ceremony. Pipit stepped back to rub the salty tears out of his eyes with the back of his fists. Upon opening his eyes once more, his vision settled on another young boy only a year younger than himself. His blonde hair clung to his face in thick, wet tendrils that fell over his eyes._

_Link._

_They had played often together after school. But while Pipit still had his mother, Link stood alone. The younger boy stared at two of the wooden caskets, too overcome with grief to even move. Why was Link standing alone? He shouldn't be by himself at a time like this. Where were his parents?_

_Link raised his gaze to meet Pipit's. His blue eyes were puffy and red, just like his own. But looking deeper, Pipit realized that they were hollow with a despair that only an orphan would know._

_Link's parents were inside the other two boxes._

_Without a word, Pipit left his mother's side and slowly walked over to Link. Neither said anything to the other as the service continued. No words were needed. They were together in their grief. Even if they had both lost someone very dear to them, they were not alone._

_The sending drew to a close after a few long minutes. There was silence as the three loftwings stepped over the caskets. One of them—his father's, he realized—waddled over to his mother. It wouldn't make eye contact with her as it nuzzled its cheek against hers. She threw herself into the tawny feathers of its neck, clinging to it as if she would never see it again. The other two shuffled towards Link. The young boy stepped forward to meet them, his face blank and expressionless. He didn't want to feel anymore, and a cold numbness was seeping into him. The two loftwings bent their heads down to Link's level and squawked quietly. He reached a shaking hand out and pressed it lightly into each one's beak. They, in turn, gently nuzzled against him before stepping back and resuming their places behind the wooden caskets._

_Soon, Daddy's Loftwing ambled over and gave him the same treatment it had with his mother. He gently scratched at the junction between its hard beak and the feathers of its face. It seemed to sigh and lean into the touch before it turned to join the other two birds._

_In unison, they climbed on top of the casket of their respective rider and gripped at the thick ropes tied around it with their talons. The priest, thoroughly soaked from the rain like everyone else present, offered one final prayer. And then the loftwings hefted their casket into the air and slowly flew off into the sky. All of Skyloft watched as the birds and their deceased knights grew distant on the horizon until they vanished from view entirely, never to be seen again. In death, they would soon be reunited with their riders._

_One by one, the other Skyloft residents returned to their homes after the somber occasion until it was just Pipit and Link staring off into the horizon. Even Pipit's own mother had left to grieve within the confines of her own home._

_A tiny voice to his right jerked him out of his silent sorrow. "Who…who is going to be my hero now?"_

_Pipit looked down on his young friend, not sure how to respond. In truth, he was asking himself a similar question. Pipit had looked up to his father, idolized him even. Daddy was a Skyknight! The pride of the village! Everyone looked up to him, because he was a hero! But…with Daddy gone, who was going to take care of Mama? When Mama was sick, Daddy always took care of her. Who would do that now?_

_Link's lower lip quivered and his voice hitched as he continued, "Whenever Groose and his meanie friends picked on me, Daddy or Mommy would always come and save me. Without them, he's just going to beat me up." Link looked up and met Pipit's gaze, his bloodshot eyes full of tears. "Who is going to be my hero now?"_

_The older boy stared deeply into Link's terrified eyes. He understood the younger boy's pain. That scrawny kid was practically Groose's personal punching bag. Link really was all alone now. He didn't have any siblings, and his home was empty now without his parents. He wouldn't be able to go back there at all; he didn't have the means to take care of himself, considering he was only six years old._

_Pipit had to do something. But what could a seven-year-old possibly do in this situation? He couldn't house the poor boy. He didn't have any food to give him, either. Maybe some of the clothes he had grown out of? No, that wouldn't do. Those things may have been nice, but they weren't what Link needed right now. What could Pipit do?_

… _What would Daddy do in this situation?_

_All at once, Pipit had an idea. Groose was big…but he was bigger. And older. They might be small, but Pipit's shoulders could carry Link's burdens too. He squared his posture and answered Link with a confident voice, "I will."_

_Link's eyes went wide. "But…but you're just a kid like me…" he trailed off._

_"Heroes can be small too, you know," Pipit replied with a slight smile. He put a hand on Link's shoulder and continued, "Look, if Groose starts picking on you again, I'll come and beat him up! If you need help, I'll be there. We're brothers now, and as the big brother, I promise I will always protect you." Pipit leaned forward and folded his arms before he rearticulated, "Always."_

_The tears in Link's eyes finally spilled over. Suddenly, he buried his face in Pipit's chest and bawled. In between sobs, Pipit was able to make out one phrase being spoken over and over._

" _Thank you."_

The filthy cleaver sparked as it collided with the refined metal of Pipit's blade.

"No."

He would not just roll over and die. He had too many people waiting for him. Counting on him. Believing in him. The way out was in sight.

Now was the time to fight.

With an angry shout, Pipit shoved the bokoblin back and kicked it in the sternum, sending it hurtling off the ledge. It screamed in outrage as it descended down towards the molten river below, only to be silenced as the lava encompassed it with a thick plop. Without giving the startled mass of swine a chance to recover, Pipit hurled himself into the putrid mob, attacking with a ferocity he didn't know he was capable of.

He had made a promise, and he intended to keep it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed chapter 2! As usual, if you liked it, let me know. If you didn't like it, still let me know. I want your criticism. I can't grow as a writer if nobody is willing to tell me where I can improve.
> 
> I should probably warn you guys...things get brutal next chapter. Be warned. More violence (and consequently, more Link) in the next chapter.
> 
> Love love love, friends!
> 
> Shnarf


	3. Chapter 3

Link staggered to his feet, using the Master Sword to prop himself up. Before his vision cleared, a sharp kick to his ribs sent him sprawling backwards. He stifled a scream as he bounced to a stop on the volcanic dirt, a stone's throw away from where Pipit was battling. Gasping as the air declined to return to his lungs, he spat blood out of his mouth, trying to clear a path through the ashy film that blanketed his airways. He could not fail now. Would not fail now. Not after his brother had risked his life and plunged into the enemy stronghold on Link's behalf. His mind screamed at him not to give up, but he was the prisoner of a broken, failing body. Still, he forced himself back up onto unsteady legs with a low whine. Blinking back the blotches swimming in his vision, he gritted his teeth against the pain of simply standing.

As his eyesight cleared, it fell upon a single bokoblin archer that had stepped forward amidst the ranks of pig-men. It smirked as it raised its bow and notched a thin, pointed arrow, aiming between the hero's eyes. It slowly drew the string back and bared its teeth in a maniacal, almost giddy sneer.

This was it.

They were going to execute him.

Instead of loosing the arrow, it grinned and aimed past Link at the mustard blur behind him. Link's eyes widened in horror and realization. Of course they weren't going to kill the hero. He was too valuable. He knew the location of the reincarnated Goddess. They needed him. But the hero's friend, on the other hand, was an expendable nuisance. Killing him would set an example.

Link's mind reeled as time seemed to slow. The notched arrow was a bodkin. It would pierce right through Pipit's chainmail, and Link could not let that happen. He knew the archer was too far for him to reach in time, so there was only one thing to do. His body moved of its own accord. Legs pumped, feet slid, and arms spread as the hero threw himself into the line of fire, just as the archer let the arrow fly.

_Thunk!_

Pain exploded in his torso.

The Master Sword clanged as it fell to the stone.

Link sank to his knees, eyes wide in shock. Somewhere, someone was screaming his name. He couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe. The ground rushed up to greet him, but he caught himself with one hand. The other reflexively clutched his chest. A thick tendril of crimson dripped down the arrow shaft protruding from beneath his left collar bone and splattered rhythmically onto the scalding hot stone, but all Link could see were blurry splotches of red and black that danced and spun in his eyesight. The pain was all-encompassing. It smothered him, threatening to drag him down into the pits of darkness.

The stone lurched and rolled beneath his hands and the hero's body threatened to collapse entirely. A wave of nausea assaulted him. Overwhelmed in agony, Link's stomach heaved and he retched a mixture of soot, stomach fluid, and blood onto the hot, ashy rock beneath him. With each convulsive movement, the arrowhead scraped and ground against bone, shooting currents of torment down his limbs. As the vomiting subsided, all of Link's energy focused on breathing. His ragged gasps were rapid and shallow as he weakly clung onto consciousness.

He couldn't take this anymore. Inky blackness encroached around the edges of his vision and began to claim territory. It was too much. There was no end in sight to this torture.

Perhaps…perhaps it was time to give up on this hopeless, losing battle…

The darkness grew in his eyesight, opening its arms into a welcoming embrace. If he gave in, the pain would stop…and that sounded pleasant. His arms shook and buckled, and Link fell to his elbows. He rested his throbbing head on the stone as his senses started to fade. His pain began to slowly melt away. He could hear Pipit and the bokoblins, but they sounded so far off. It would be over if he surrendered to the cold blackness. No more misery, no more agony, no more longing to see his sweet Zelda…

_Zelda…_

_Link!_

His eyes snapped back open. No. If he surrendered, Zelda died. If he gave in, all of his friends would be killed. The demon king would rise again and conquer all.

He would not allow that to happen.

A warm light began to shine and pulse on his hand. Rage bubbled forth from the depths of his soul, bursting through the prison of agony. The pain, the despair, the hopelessness yielded to a tsunami of righteous fury. No one was going to keep his Zelda away from him any longer. The energy building on his hand charged through him, his veins thrumming wild with power. He reached up with his right hand and ruthlessly snapped off the protruding arrow shaft, leaving the other half still deeply embedded beneath his clavicle. The glowing, blue hilt of the Master Sword hummed and vibrated as he grabbed it in a white-knuckled grip. Nobody would hurt her. No foe would stand against him.

He would slaughter them all.

A beacon of golden light burst from his hand, and the hero let the rage consume him.

* * *

Arms ached from being pushed for so long. Legs pleaded for a respite. Heaving chest begged him to lay down and rest. But that was a luxury Pipit could not afford, so he pressed on, slashing anything that dared come close. Had his brain registered the number of lives taken by his own hands, it would have made him sick. But in the morbid dance of kill or be killed, he had no choice but to slay his foes. Onwards they came, trying to overpower the solitary knight with sheer numbers. Strike, dodge, parry, ignore the throbbing ribs, counterattack. One by one, Pipit felled each who came close. Soon, the angry determination in their eyes slowly gave way to confusion as they glanced past Pipit amidst the fighting. A chorus of screams, shrieks, and savage snarls rose up from behind him. When confusion evolved into terror, they stopped their assault altogether and slowly backed away, terrified for their miserable lives.

With the Bokoblins before him retreating in a stunned and fearful silence, Pipit braced himself for the worst. His mind raced as he imagined the horrors behind him. Link could not have survived the wave of swine chasing them, not in his condition. More likely, Link's tormenter had caught up to them and was about to exact his revenge on the hero and his pathetic little friend. Sword at the ready, he took a deep breath and whirled around, ready to face death and the agents of chaos behind him.

He was not prepared for the scene that greeted him. Eyes widened, jaw dropped, and mouth salivated in preparation for the imminent inversion of his stomach and its contents.

It was a bloodbath.

Viscera and severed limbs were strewn left and right. Decapitated pig heads bounced as they hit the scarlet-stained stone. Squeals of agony pierced the night sky, only to be cut short as the Blade of Evil's Bane purged the life from the terrified bokoblins. The pig men gurgled as they dropped to the ground. There was a furious finesse to Link's motions. It was as though raw, unbridled wrath had completely possessed the young man. Link snarled and growled like a feral beast as he ripped the Master Sword up through another foe, cleaving from groin to shoulder. He kicked the dying swine off his blade and into the glowing molten river below them. The few remaining Bokoblins turned tail and ran from the undying harbinger of death.

They didn't make it far.

Link stood tall in the center of the carnage, coated in the blood of his felled enemies. It dripped down his face, from his hands, and off the tip of his glowing sword. Upon his hand shone three golden triangles as they pulsed erratically with holy light and energy. A small, involuntary noise escaped Pipit's lips as he stifled a gag. Suddenly, a sharp metal point pricked his neck, and he froze. This wasn't a bokoblin sword. No, this blade was crafted from otherworldly materials, and it dripped with blood and bits of swine flesh.

It was the Master Sword.

Pipit's eyes widened in shock and terror at the man in front of him. Link gripped the blade tightly as he pressed it to his brother's throat. But…was  _this_  actually Link? The hero's parched lips pulled back over his bloodstained teeth, baring them in a feral snarl. His eyes were clouded with murderous fury. Where had Pipit's compassionate and timid brother gone, and just what kind of possessive power had turned him into the raging slaughterhouse before him? Not only that, but how could he have possibly had the energy to fight back like that? Only a few moments ago, he had been unsteady on his feet.

It didn't make any sense.

Link seethed through clenched teeth, breathing hard from his previous exertion. His sapphire eyes, wide with bloodlust and rage, bored into Pipit's, searching. Waiting. Daring him to so much as blink the wrong way.

Pipit swallowed hard past the pressure of the Blade of Evil's Bane against his throat. The sweat-slicked man stared fearfully into his crazed brother's furious eyes as he slowly moved his stolen sword to the side and away from Link, simultaneously raising his shield hand in surrender.

"Link…" he squeaked out as his blade clattered to the stone, "it's me, Pipit."

There was no change in Link's posture or demeanor. If anything, he looked even more angry that his perceived foe would dare speak to him in such a pathetic manner.

Pipit's mind reeled, trying to come up with something,  _anything_ that would restore Link's sanity _. What do I do? What do I say? Anything? Nothing? C'mon, THINK!_

The older knight slowly raised his shaking and now empty sword hand in the air to join his shield hand, hoping the gesture of surrender would help break through his brother's fury. "Link," Pipit's voice grew more steady as he continued, "We're friends, remember? We grew up together. We…we went to our fathers' funeral when we were boys. We're brothers. I promised to protect you…but I can't protect you from yourself."

Silence stretched between the two for an agonizing moment. The pulsing on Link's hand began to even out and the wrath in Link's eyes seemed to weaken. Pipit, now emboldened by his miniscule success, pleaded, "Come back, Link. I don't know where you went or…or what took over, but come back. Zelda needs you. I need you.

" _Please._ "

At that, the possessive hold of rage finally broke, and Link's eyes went wide. He backed up and slowly lowered the Master Sword to his side in a state of shock. Dazed, his eyes wandered left and right. Confusion and horror slowly began to rise up in his belly as he took in the sight before him. The Blade of Evil's Bane slipped between his fingers. Oh, Goddesses, there was so much carnage. Bokoblins—or pieces of them, rather—were strewn haphazardly to and fro. A few moaned and gurgled as their mortal wounds dragged them down into the arms of death. Something warm and wet dripped down Link's face, and he reached up to wipe it away with his shield arm. When it came back coated in blood that wasn't his, he began to piece this situation together with increasing levels of anguish.

Distraught, he tore his gaze away from the bloody aftermath of his rage and locked eyes with his friend. They were bloodshot and wet with unshed tears as he croaked out in a weak and wavering voice, "Pipit…what happened?" His hands rose to grip the bloodied and matted hair at his scalp. "How…?" He paused in an attempt to put words to his current state of increasing horror and panic. The hero's eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out the carnage around him. His breathing quickened as his senses assaulted him. The metallic smell of the slaughter and the putrid volcanic sulfur. The sounds of dying swine choking on their own blood. The sickening feel of the slick fluid between his fingers, dripping down his bare chest,  _in his mouth_. An involuntary shiver of disgust shot through his body. He looked over at Pipit again with a weariness in his eyes that no man his age should have to bear. His voice lowered to a shaking whisper as he begged a question he truly did not want answered.

" _What did I do_?"

Pipit swallowed, unsure of how to respond.  _Does Link remember nothing of what just happened?_   _What am I supposed to tell him? That he went on a raging rampage? That he almost killed me? How do I possibly explain all of this when I am just as clueless as he is?_

As he opened his mouth to give an unsatisfactory reply, the ground shook once more and a cloud of ash exploded into the atmosphere from the mouth of the volcano. A swell of screeches and screams grew in the distance and a swarm of fire keese spewed from the entry of the ornate temple. The eruption jolted the pair back to the reality of their situation. Pipit heard a rattling, reptilian growl behind him, and before the threat of danger had fully registered in the older knight's brain, Link sprang into action. Master Sword in hand once again, he parried the incoming strike and quickly decapitated the attacking lizalfos.

"Time to go!" Link shouted over his shoulder as the twitching body of the lizard-man fell off the precipice and into the molten lake below. Scrambling back to his senses, Pipit snatched up his inferior blade and bounded after his wounded friend.

The loftwing statue stood alone in the distance. If they could just make it there, they would be safe…or so Link had claimed. Pipit didn't understand how the stone bird would protect them against the horde of savage beasts pursuing them, but he did not have any better suggestions. He had no idea how to escape this goddess forsaken place and go home, so his only option was to follow the hero. The mark on the back of Link's hand shone steadily as the pair sprinted towards the statue.

The enemies were gaining on them. They flooded down the paths on either side of the statue. A few of the faster ones were well ahead of the rest and rounded the bend to rush towards the knights. Still running, Link dispatched one with the glowing blade of the Master Sword and trusted that Pipit could handle the other one himself. They pushed forward.

"Do you have a sailcloth?" Link shouted over the cacophony.

"Used it for bandages," Pipit yelled back, barreling through a bokoblin without breaking his stride.

Link cursed vehemently. "When we get to the statue, grab on to me and don't let-" Suddenly, Link let out a surprised cry of pain as the light emanating from the triangles flickered and went dark, causing him to stumble. It flashed back on again, and the hero quickly righted himself and resumed his sprint.

"What the hell was that!" Pipit screamed over his shoulder.

"I don't know!" Link cried in response, eyes wide with fear. A few strides later, the golden light trembled and faded out once more. The hero failed to stifle back a scream as a sudden flood of agony broke through again and he tumbled to the ashy rock. Pipit skidded to a stop and yanked Link back up onto his feet. The mark was glowing again, but it was noticeably dimmer and less steady than it had been a moment prior. The hero staggered as he regained his footing, clutching his abdomen with a pained grimace.

"Come on, buddy! We're almost there," Pipit shouted as they regained speed. They were close to the loftwing statue. Unfortunately, the mob of lizalfos and bokoblins were nearing the knights as they made a mad dash towards the only escape route. It was going to be close, and Pipit could only pray to the goddesses for their favor.

Link shoved the Master Sword into its scabbard and thrust a hand into his belt pouch, fishing around for the handmade sailcloth as he bounded forwards. Pipit took the lead, cutting down two bokoblins on his right and shield-bashing the one on his left, clearing a path for the now defenseless Link. Adrenaline coursed through their veins. Both knights panted hard from exertion and exhaustion. This was it. If they didn't make it to the statue before the opposing forces, they were going to die, and no amount of mental pep talks or fancy swordplay would change that.

Lizalfos, keese, and swine closed in around the weary and injured knights. A dirty, brown hand latched around Pipit's right forearm. Another gripped at his sleeve. Panicked, he ripped his arm away. Scaled, green arms wrapped around his shield, clinging to it as Pipit was forced to slow. He tried to wrench it loose, but the lizalfos could not be budged. They were trying to stall him. Making a split-second decision, Pipit wriggled his arm out of the shield, leaving it behind as he rushed forward.

They were in arm's length of the stone loftwing. Clutching the ends of his sailcloth in a death grip, Link lunged for the statue. Pipit wasn't sure if his brother had dove for it or if he had fallen as he approached, but it caught him off guard. Pipit hastily abandoned his sword in the chest of an incoming lizalfos and dove after Link, locking his arms around his brother's waist in midair.

As soon as Link's fingers scraped against the hot stone, a powerful gust of wind exploded upwards beneath them. His arms jerked skyward as the pair hurtled through a cloud of keese and into the dark firmament above. A scream of agony erupted from Link's mouth. Up, up, up they skyrocketed, the molten volcanic glow dimming below him. Link felt like he was being torn in half with the sailcloth threatening to rip his shoulders from their sockets and Pipit's entire weight hanging from the arms tightly clamped around his waist. The light from Link's hand flickered in and out like an oil lamp burning the last of its fuel. Link weakly clung to consciousness as ink splotches appeared in his vision.

As the burning hot air of the fire mountain yielded to the cool embrace of the misty cloud barrier, the Triforce faded out entirely, taking Link's consciousness with it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I know what you are thinking: "But Shnarf, Link didn't have the Triforce at this point in the game. How is he using it if he hasn't found it yet?" Answer, in short, because I do what I want. But in all seriousness, I did take some artistic license when writing this. Who doesn't? I know Mr. Hero Pants hadn't found the Triforce-Win Card yet, but at the same time, he is the Triforce's chosen wielder. That whole dungeon/temple/thingy the Sacred Triangles were housed in was designed FOR HIM to get through. It deemed him worthy of its power. Therefore, it makes sense to conclude that the Triforce might just have a mind of its own. I took that theory and ran with it. The Triforce is appearing on Link's hand because it knew that he was in trouble, so it decided to help him out a wee bit.
> 
> More on that next chapter, though. I hope you enjoyed reading! As always, if you liked it, please review. If you didn't like it, please review. I need your criticism. Tell me what I can improve on. I'd love to hear from you. Seriously.
> 
> Love love love, friends!
> 
> Shnarf


	4. Chapter 4

Pipit's stomach dropped to his feet, and the wind screamed in his ears as they shot into the black expanse of the sky. The pair erupted through the cool cloud barrier, leaving a poof of mist in their wake. Unable to restrain his glee, Pipit let out a whoop of joy as they ascended into the air.

They had escaped.

They were free.

"Yeah! We did it!" he shouted to his friend as their ascent into the sky began to slow.

His brother gave no response.

"Link?"

The two knights reached the peak of their climb. They floated for a fleeting moment.

And then they began to fall.

"Link!" Still nothing. "LINK!" Pipit looked up at the younger knight and paled. Link's eyes were closed, and his limp arms flailed in the wind. He had passed out, and the sailcloth still clutched in one hand periodically caught the gusts, sending both knights into the start of a tailspin.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit!_  Pipit's mind reeled, trying to come up with a solution. Pipit couldn't whistle with one hand, so he needed to let go of Link and call for his Loftwing. But he couldn't just let Link fall and die, either. And the longer he held on, the more out of control their tailspin became.

A light flashed in the distance as the world spun dizzyingly fast.  _That's it! The Skyknights!_  The third shift knights were patrolling. Maybe if they were spotted, they could be rescued. But Link and Pipit were a long ways from the Skyloft mainland. The Skyknights didn't keep watch this far out, and even if they were miraculously spotted, there was no way the patrol would reach them in time.

They were going to fall and die.

_No, no, no, no, NO! THINK FASTER!_

_Options…options… Uuuhhhhh…option A: let go of Link, call for loftwing, bird rescues me, Link is not rescued, Link falls to his death. Option B: hold on to Link, don't whistle for loftwing because I can't, we_ both _fall to our deaths._

There was no option C, and he was quickly running out of time. Pipit was at war with himself, and he couldn't bring himself to root for either side. He despised both options, and he was quickly growing to despise himself for the decision he would inevitably have to make.

There was only one viable choice.

_I have to let go of Link._

**_But you can't!_ **

_I have to!_

**_But then he will die!_ **

_If I don't let go,_ I _will die!_

**_Then you're killing him!_ **

_Yeah, well guess what? EITHER WAY, LINK DIES._

**_You're going to kill your own brother!_ **

_What else can I do? Either he dies or we both die. He would do the same thing if he were in my shoes!_

**_YOU ARE KILLING YOUR BROTHER TO SAVE YOUR OWN SKIN, GODDESS DAMNIT!_ **

_…Yeah…I am…because I don't have to die with him. One of us can still live._

**_Live? Do you honestly think you'll be able to live with yourself after this?_ **

That caught Pipit off guard. No, he probably wouldn't be able to live with himself. He would always blame himself for Link's death, even though it was entirely out of his hands.

_Even so…_

_At least I'll be alive._

**_And you call yourself a knight. You're not a Skyknight. You're scum, worse than dirt! Worse than trash! WORSE THAN SEWAGE, YOU FATHERLESS INGRATE! TRAITOR! TRAITOR!_ **

_…Maybe so…_

_…but…_

_…at least one of us can survive._

**_I HATE YOU._ **

_I hate me too._

"I'm sorry, Link."

Gritting his teeth, Pipit let out a cry of overwhelming guilt and frustration and shoved himself away from his helpless friend. His forefingers went to his mouth and he let out a long whistle, praying that his mount would reach him in time. He could sense it, but only barely.

Pipit threw his limbs out wide, attempting to slow his free fall and lessen the chaotic tumble. After a few turns and some precise adjustments, he was able to right himself. Link was still spiraling out of control, the sailcloth flapping uselessly in his hand. There was nothing Pipit could do but watch, wait, and say goodbye. Tears welled in his eyes and he tore his gaze away, too ashamed of himself to stand looking at his brother anymore.

Instead, he angled himself in preparation to mount his loftwing when it arrived, just like they had done for several years now.

And then he waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

_Aaaaanytime, now._

Suddenly, a scream of moonlit scarlet barreled past him and snatched Link out of the air. The crimson frenzy banked hard and shot back towards the Skyloft mainland in a blur, spiraling back into the darkness just as quickly as it had come forth. It was gone without a single regard for Pipit's increasingly dire circumstance.

_Was…was that…_

_…Link's loftwing?_

Pipit squinted into the darkness as he plummeted closer and closer to the cloud barrier, trying to follow the scarlet storm, but it had vanished into the night sky. The young knight also could not see his own mount, much to his growing horror. The only sailcloth was still gripped tightly in Link's hand, which meant that…

_I'm the one falling to my death._

_Huh._

_I did not see this one coming._

**_Serves you right._ **

_Shut up._

By now, Pipit was practically past the point of no return. His loftwing—if it even came—would not have any room to maneuver underneath him for a standard mount. There simply wasn't enough time left.

He really was going to die.

_I just…I just wish I could have said goodbye._

The cloud barrier grew beneath him, encompassing his entire field of vision.

_To my mom…_

The wind howled in his ears, lamenting his premature departure from the world above.

_To Karane…_

The mist kissed his face as he sank into the cool fog.

_To—_

Strong talons abruptly locked around Pipit's chest and hips. His head whipped down violently as his body was wrenched upwards. Suddenly, he was very, very disoriented. He couldn't tell left from right, up from down, forwards from backwards. All sense of equilibrium was lost. He didn't even know what his name was.

He was flying. Then floating. Then falling for a fleeting second. A pillow of tawny feathers appeared beneath him and he instinctively grabbed onto the soft down.

And then he was flying again. Except he wasn't the one doing the flying. No, that would be the loftwing beneath him.

_Wait…what?_

_What…happened?_

It came back to him slowly as he blinked the floating stars out of his vision. The volcano. The rescue mission. The horrid, bloody nightmare known as the Surface. The awful, thumping headache that relentlessly pounded from the base of his skull up to his temples. No, no he didn't have that before. That was new. Regardless, he was very grateful for the unexpected arrival of his loftwing and the safety it brought as it flew through the sky.

"Thanks, buddy," he said as he patted the bird's neck. It cawed softly in response and zoomed towards Skyloft as the young man rested his head on its feathers.

Pipit allowed himself to relax against his loftwing as it soared through the firmament. With the threat of immanent death no longer present, the adrenaline quickly wore off and he realized just how tired he was. Wow, he was  _exhausted_. Without the epinephrine filtering out negative stimuli, his limbs felt like they were made of lead. His ankle—previously numbed to the injury he had incurred upon landing on the Surface—throbbed with renewed vigor. His ribs protested every breath. More than anything, though, he was just completely worn out. He was sorely tempted to allow the gentle rocking of the flight and the cool atmosphere of the sky to lull him into a much-needed sleep. Had it really been two days since he had gotten any rest? Yeah, two very eventful days with no sleep.

He could really use a nap.

A minute or two passed as his mount neared the Skyloft mainland. Against his will, Pipit had nodded off a few times on the soft, tawny down, but a chilling sound startled him into alertness. It was a noise he hadn't heard in years. Not since his father died, and it shook him to his bones.

Link's loftwing was  _screaming_.

The crimson bird came into view as Pipit's own mount prepared to land. Link lay on the ground in a bloody, crumpled heap. His loftwing stood protectively over him, flapping its wings erratically and making horrible, frantic screeching noises into the night sky. They reverberated through Pipit's body, and he couldn't help but shudder at their intensity. Still in his nightclothes, Headmaster Gaepora was already making his way towards the frenzied bird and its motionless rider. Anytime he tried to get close, however, the crimson loftwing would lash out and drive him back.

The crazed attacking, the frenzied movements, the unrelenting screaming…there was only one explanation for the bird's behavior.

The crimson loftwing was mourning his rider.

_I…I didn't make it in time? He's gone?_

Pipit immediately shook his head, trying to derail the negative train of thought. His head objected to the movement with an increase in pounding, but he ignored it, too preoccupied with the current situation. He couldn't think about that possibility right now, not after everything he had gone through to save his brother.

Pipit's dusky loftwing landed near Link, but out of range of the crimson mount's erratic flailing. Pipit gently eased himself down, trying to stay off of his injured ankle and avoid any unnecessary twisting. As he stood, though, he could tell something was off. Noises began to fade away, replaced by a high-pitched ringing and the whooshing of blood pumping in his ears. A swell of dizziness stole his balance. He felt himself slowly tip to the side, and he reached a tingling hand out to steady himself against his loftwing, because he was very woozy. The periphery of his vision grew dark, and the blackness reduced his eyesight down to tunnel vision.

_Don't pass out, don't pass out,_ please _don't pass out…_

Blinking hard and focusing on taking deep breaths, Pipit waited through the dizziness until his body adjusted to his now vertical position. As his senses gradually returned to him and he regained his equilibrium, his loftwing took a few steps back, hesitantly putting distance between itself and Link's bird.

The enraged animal was out of control. In an attempt to calm it down, the young knight put a hand forward and called out, "Red, relax. You need to—"

The scarlet loftwing whipped around and caught sight of Pipit. Its feathers twitched and its eyes narrowed as it glared daggers at the young man.

The only warning Pipit had was a slight buzzing feeling in his head before his mind was ruthlessly invaded. He cried out against the severity of it and reflexively pressed his palms to his temples. Wave after wave of raw emotion—emotion that did not belong to him—burst into his unprotected mind. It ravaged through him, nearly bringing him to his knees with its sizzling intensity. The painful vehemence threatened to consume him as each surge compounded with the previous one.

Panic.

Terror.

Wrath.

Hatred.

Vengeance.

_"YOU…"_  the venomous voice boomed in his mind. It dripped with malice and the desire, no, the need for retribution.

Pipit paled. "Red, what—"

_"YOU DID THIS."_

"No no no no no, I didn't—"

_"YOU WILL PAY FOR WHAT YOU'VE DONE!"_

The crimson terror wrenched itself out of Pipit's psyche and stalked towards him, tail feathers fanning out and twitching in rage. Pipit hastily backed away, but his ankle gave out underneath him. He stumbled to the ground and scrambled backwards as the animal approached him, hissing and spreading its massive wings in a display of power. The young knight was helpless. He could not defend himself against the furious animal.

It shrieked and lunged for the terrified man, but a flurry of brown feathers tackled it to the side.

Pipit's loftwing.

Red roared in outrage and thrashed against its attacker, easily overpowering it as the two birds rolled on the grass.

Pipit reached out through their bond and relayed,  _"Can you keep him off us?"_

The writhing mass of down tumbled across the ground, each bird slashing at the other with razor sharp talons and jabbing vulnerable spots with their beaks while they tried to gain the upper hand. Pipit was answered by a string of images that flashed into his mind as his mount dodged a blur of attacks. Its massive size, its overwhelming strength, its incredible speed…the scarlet loftwing outmatched its opponent in every way. If this was allowed to continue, Pipit's bird would lose.

Lights in the sky, once distant, flashed as they drew nearer. The skyknights were coming to assess the commotion.

_"Just hold on,"_  Pipit responded as he stood up and limped towards Link.  _"Help is on the way."_

The clash continued as Skyknights and their mounts arrived and leapt into action, jumping into the feathered frenzy and trying to separate the two loftwings. Pipit rushed to Link as fast as his injured leg would carry him and dropped to his knees beside his unconscious brother.

"Dear Goddesses…" the headmaster whispered in horror as he knelt over the bloodied knight. Shaking him gently, he pleaded, "Link, my boy, can you hear me? Link!"

The hero did not respond.

Pipit heart skipped a beat. He swallowed past the lump forming in his throat. "Was I too late? Is he…?" He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

Gaepora was silent for a moment as he assessed the blonde man he had cared for like his own son. "Not yet. He is still with us, but we must hurry." The large man gently scooped up the broken hero into his arms and barked off to a nearby knight, "Wake Owlan and have him prep for triage. The rest of you, get that loftwing under control before it hurts someone." The knights nodded and sprinted off to execute the headmaster's orders. "And Pipit," he continued as he started towards the academy, "go fetch Karane and bring her to Owlan's room. He is going to need her assistance with this one."

The crimson loftwing was tackled to the ground once more as several other mounts closed in on it, pinning it down. It bucked against its captors and screamed in outrage. The bird fought against those restraining it with every ounce of its strength, and the other loftwings struggled to keep it down with their talons. A net was thrown over it and staked to the ground. When the mount realized that it was trapped, its fury quickly devolved into despair, and it howled into the night sky. It was a wail of misery, the sound of one who had lost everything…

A cry of hopelessness.

* * *

Pipit burst through the academy doors and made towards the staircase, clutching his chest with one hand. His angry ankle radiated with heat and pulsed painfully with each rapid heartbeat. That, however, was nothing compared to his side. He tried to limit himself to shallow breaths that didn't stretch his ribcage, but even those sent sharp currents through his chest. He had to stop for a moment and lean against the wall to catch his breath and give himself a short reprieve from the pain.

But right now, Pipit had more important things to worry about than his own physical condition.

A door to his side squeaked shut and a questioning voice spoke up. "Whoa, Pipit, you look awful. What happened?"

Pipit glanced over at the culprit. A very confused Cawlin stood in the hallway, taking in the senior knight's haggard appearance. "Not right now, Cawlin," he quipped in irritation as he pushed himself off of the wall and hobbled towards the stairwell. He did not have time to endure any pestering. Cawlin could wait. For the past forty-eight hours, Pipit had gone through hell and back, and he did not have the patience to deal with other students right now, especially this one.

The squat student did not take the hint. He hurried over to the injured man, cut him off, and pressed, "A screaming loftwing woke me up, and there are knights everywhere. Seriously, Pipit, what's going on—?"

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the insurmountable stress, or the fact that his closest friend was inches from death, but something inside Pipit snapped.

Rage bubbled up from deep in his belly. His nostrils flared and the bridge of his nose wrinkled up as he got in the other student's face and roared, "I SAID NOT NOW!"

Cawlin was utterly shocked. His eyes went wide, his jaw slacked, and his face lost its color. After an echoing moment, Pipit realized what he had just done, and he was just as astonished that such an outburst had come from himself. They stared at each other for a moment with varying degrees of fear, surprise, and anger before Pipit huffed and shamefully tore himself away.

"I can't right now…" he sighed in remorse as he paused at the foot of the steps. His quivering voice quieted to barely a whisper as he finished, "I just…can't."

Cawlin was left in a stunned silence as the senior knight limped up the staircase.

Pipit ascended the flight with his mind whirling. So many thoughts, emotions, and worries plagued his mind that it was overwhelming him. The direness of the situation was stressing him out to the point that it was making him act out of character. Under any other circumstance, he would have never lashed out at someone like he just had. His stomach was beginning to knot up with nausea, but he pushed it down with a slight grimace.

He had to focus on the task at hand and take it one step at a time. Right now, that meant waking Owlan's apprentice.

"Karane!" he called as he pounded on her door and immediately winced. His ribs did NOT like that movement. He leaned a hand on the doorway and shouted, "Open up! It's an emergency!"

Fabric beyond the door rustled for a few seconds before the wood eased open. Karane's strawberry hair splayed in all directions as she drowsily rubbed her eyes with a knuckle. She blinked the sleep from her eyes for a few seconds and pulled her robe tighter across her torso. Lifting her gaze to meet Pipit's, she stared at him with confusion. Her widening eyes slipped to the cut on his cheek, the tear in the side of his tunic, and the caked layer of dirt, soot, and dried bokoblin blood coating his skin.

"Good Goddesses, Pipit. Are you alright? What happened to you?"

"I'm fine—" he started.

"You are most definitely  _not_  fine," she interrupted as she quickly moved to assess the damage. "How did this happen?"

He twisted away from the hand going for the slash in his tunic and hissed through gritted teeth at the sudden jolt of pain that stabbed into his chest. Okay, so no more twisting motions. "It can wait," he managed with a grimace as he leaned against the door frame. "Owlan needs your help. We don't have any time to waste."

"Hold on, I don't understand. What happened? What's going on—?"

Karane went silent as the headmaster passed by in the hallway with a listless, battered body in his arms. He shot Pipit and Karane a grave glance as the hero's arms dangled from his broken frame.

Karane's face paled and she whispered, "Is that Link?"

Wrought with worry, her eyes searched Pipits, begging for her fears to be false. He set his jaw and bluntly replied, "Get dressed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter-and the next, really-were hard to write. I had to go to some dark places to make them happen, therefore I really hope it was worth it.
> 
> Drop me a comment so I know how I'm doing! Tell me what you don't like! Reviews are life!
> 
> Until next time!
> 
> Love, love, love, friends!
> 
> Shnarf


	5. Chapter 5

Owlan's room was a flurry of activity, but the professor was the image of composure as he quickly coordinated the chaos. "Lay him on the bed," the professor ordered as he rolled his sleeves up past his elbows and tied up his disheveled hair. A quiet, breathy moan slipped from Link's lips as the headmaster gently eased him onto the still-warm mattress. Karane, barefoot but otherwise dressed in her wrinkled uniform, strode past the overwhelmed Pipit and immediately went to work fetching clean bandages and other necessary supplies. Gaepora stripped the hero of his belt and baldric before he slipped the Blade of Evil's Bane out from underneath him. Owlan began a calm but insistent assessment of his patient's condition. All Pipit could do was stand and watch.

Professor Horwell strode in from the adjoining room. The frantic activity in the middle of the night startled the man, and he demanded, "What in Skyloft is…Oh Goddesses…"

He gaped in the doorway in shock at the sight of his bloodied student on the bed before the headmaster snapped him out of it. "Shut the door. We don't need anyone else seeing this and making a scene." The instructor hastily obliged.

More orders were barked off to the makeshift team. Karane wheeled a cart of medical tools and supplies up to the bed. Owlan took a pair of scissors and carefully cut through the soaked bedsheet-bandages across Link's middle and slowly peeled them away. Gaepora did his best to cleanse the boy's skin with a wet washcloth.

Everything was happening so quickly around Pipit that he was having trouble keeping track of it all.

Owlan shook his head, never once looking up from his patient. "It's deep, but it missed anything vital." He paused for a moment, brows furrowed in thought as he analyzed the form of the laceration. His eyes flicked to the shackles on Link's wrist and back down to the oddly-shaped wound across his abdomen. "In fact, it  _avoids_ anything that would have threatened his life. This is not a battle wound. No, this…this was deliberate..."

Pipit was very queasy. He had known that Link had been held captive and he had seen the evidence of such an occurrence, but he hadn't really pictured it happening. The image of someone torturing his brother left the acrid taste of bile in his mouth. It rose up in his throat, but he stuffed it down. He could wait. Link was the priority.

"Pipit," Horwell inquired in a quiet, horrified voice as he looked up from the battered hero, "What the hell happened to him?"

The room went silent as everyone turned to the exhausted young knight, awaiting a response. He opened his mouth, but the words lodged themselves in his throat. The terrible memories flashed before his eyes: the nightmare of finding his broken brother strung up by the wrists, the horrors of slashing their way through armies of pig-man-things, the terror of Link's murderous glare as he held his blade at Pipit's throat. How could he possibly begin to tell the tale when just the thought of those awful occurrences made his stomach want to invert itself?

Seeing Pipit's fear and hesitation, Owlan spoke up in a calm voice. "I don't need the whole story, but I do need to know what happened to him so I can treat him. Is there anything at all you can tell us?"

Pipit shakily let out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. "I don't know much. Most of this happened before I found him down there."

"Down there?" Horwell echoed, growing irate as he continued. "Down there as in the Surface? You went to the Surface?"

"Horwell, come here and help me with this," Gaepora insisted as he held out a clean washcloth, trying to get the professor off of the subject.

"He went down to the Surface!" the angry flight instructor squawked, pointing at the senior knight.

"That isn't important right now!" the headmaster retorted. "We can deal with that later. Right now, you need to focus on helping us save this boy's life."

Horwell paused for a moment before he marched over, snatched the cloth from Gaepora's outstretched hand and set to work removing the grime covering Link's arms.

Karane had moved to Link's feet and was removing his thin, burnt boots. "Goodness, there's nothing left of these," she said as she slipped one off, followed by a filthy sock that was crusted to the hero's foot. The skin on his soles was red and blistered. "Why does he have so many burns?" she quietly wondered aloud.

It was Owlan who answered, his voice grim, "…He went back to the volcano…"

"Vull-cane-oh?" the headmaster articulated with his eyebrows furrowed as he rinsed his washcloth in the basin. "What in Hylia's name is a vull-cane-oh?

Pipit explained in a soft voice as their eyes met, "It's a mountain that is on fire…but from the inside."

A silence swept through the room. Owlan, unfazed by the otherwise startling revelation, dictated to his peers, "We need more space. Pull the bed away from the wall." The men did as he asked and slid the bed across to the center of the room before they resumed their ministrations. The white-maned professor grabbed a bottle of a clear, pungent liquid and set to work delicately cleaning the laceration across Link's abdomen. Drifting somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, the hero softly whimpered as the alcohol sterilized his exposed flesh.

The headmaster moved to clean the seeping injury just below Link's collar bone. The cloth snagged on something hard and jagged in the wound, and the hero reflexively arched his back away with a muffled cry. Gaepora immediately froze. A look of bewilderment crossed the men's faces as they glanced between each other and the shoulder wound. Compared to the gash across Link's middle, the injury looked significantly less dire. The instructors crowded around the large man as he gingerly peeled the cotton away.

"Is that…"

"…an arrow shaft?"

Owlan took in a shaking huff and cursed under his breath. He stepped away for a moment, pacing around the room as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Pipit was trying his hardest to not throw up.

"Can we extract it?" Karane asked as she swallowed her own fears.

Owlan sighed and ran his fingers back through his snowy hair. "I'll have to, but I'm flying blind here. If the shaft was intact, I could at least estimate how deep the arrow penetrated, but as it is, I have no clues to its depth. It might have punctured a lung or severed his axillary artery or it might be lodged into bone, and I won't know anything until I get in there."

Horwell grabbed a pair of pliers off the cart. "Then let's get this over with."

"No!" Owlan exclaimed and snatched the tool from the other professor's hand. "You don't just yank an arrow out."

"Well it needs to come out, so let's get it out."

"I plan to," Owlan insisted as hints of irritation broke through his fortress of calm, "but not like that. These arrowheads are not glued or lashed on. They are held on with wax, which softens at body temperature. So, if you try to rip the thing out, the head will be left behind."

Gaepora piped in, "Can we push it out the back?"

The botanist-turned-doctor's focused eyes roved over his patient, rapidly sorting through his options. He shook his head and started, "His scapula is in the way."

"Shoulder blade," Karane whispered over her shoulder to a very disgusted Pipit.

"It's going to have to come out the way it went in," Owlan finished as he stepped up to the cart once more. After he put the pliers away, he unrolled a long piece of leather, revealing a line of odd-looking metal tools used for purposes that Pipit didn't want to think about. The professor hastily doused his hands in alcohol, shook them dry for a few seconds, and slid a metal tool out of its slot. It resembled a spoon with a long, straight handle, except the edges of the spoon curved back in towards the center of the tool, creating a slight pocket with rounded edges.

"What the hell  _is_ that thing, and why—" Horwell demanded, but Owlan cut him off, not wanting to waste any more time as his patient lay on his bed.

"It's an arrow spoon, and this is not the first time I have done this," he snapped. "Gaepora, hold his shoulders down. Everyone else, back up."

He paused at the bedside, took a steadying breath, nodded to the headmaster, and began to insert the spoon along the shaft.

Link gasped and his unfocused eyes shot open. The hero weakly arched against the intruding tool and the hands restraining him. A strangled cry erupted from his lips as he tensed and threw his head back in agony. Everyone in the room save for Owlan visibly cringed as the hoarse cry echoed through the room.

Then a flicker of light caught Pipit's eye for a fleeting moment, but when he turned in that direction it was gone. His eyes roamed the room in search of it, but it was either a figment of his imagination, or he couldn't spot it from his perspective. Another flash of light, but this time his eyes flicked to the source.

Which was Link's right hand.

The three golden triangles upon it hummed, flashing faster and faster until it glared like the merciless sun.

Pipit's stomach dropped to the floor. "Oh no," he whispered.

And then it happened.

A pulse of hot energy blasted Gaepora away from the hero and into a wall. In a heartbeat, Link was on his feet with Professor Owlan's throat clamped his glowing hand. The air thrummed wild with power, almost as if an electric current had charged the atmosphere. The dominating omnipotence of the triangles radiated from its broken vessel, and it assaulted the unsuspecting team with a nauseating wave of force. Owlan's eyes went wide and a strangled noise escaped his mouth as the hero tightened his grip. The doctor's fists beat against his patient's arm to no avail. Looking down at the metal protruding from his chest, the hero reached up with his free hand, yanked it out, and let it clang to the floor. Link brought his nose within an inch of the professor's and snarled in wrath, spittle spewing from between his bloodstained teeth. Skin sizzled, and the pungent stench of scorching flesh pierced the air.

Pipit was frozen in horror. Owlan's frantic eyes began to lose focus. With a roar, Link effortlessly lifted the professor into the air by his neck and flung him across the room. Owlan slammed into the bookcase and crumpled to the floor, coughing and gasping for breath. A few dislodged tomes pelted the professor as Link stalked towards his perceived assailant. Floods of crackling power shot out from the mangled vessel, washing the room's occupants with wave after wave of malice.

 _He's going to kill him_ , Pipit realized in dread. Adrenaline coursed through his veins once more. He couldn't just stand by and watch it happen. He had to act.

He had to do  _something_.

Pipit threw himself between the wheezing teacher and his possessed brother. "Don't do this, Link," he pleaded.

As Link lifted his eyes to meet his brother's, Pipit's heart lodged itself in his throat. They were rolled back into his head, and they blazed with otherworldly light. A shining aura of gold fire licked the hero's skin. Complete with the seeping wounds, burns, bruises, and the filth smeared across his body, he could have been the herald of death.

This was not like what happened on the Surface. No, this was on a whole other level in comparison. The indomitable force, the unyielding power…it was unlike anything Pipit had ever seen or felt before.

It terrified him.

A chorus of unfamiliar voices flowed from the hero's chapped lips. They were drowned in hostility and fierce, divine justice.

"Step aside."

It was not a suggestion.

The order reverberated through him, compounding on itself as it replayed over and over with growing intensity.  _Obey. Obey. Obey! OBEY!_  Pipit shivered against the ferocity trying to compel him into submission, and truthfully, he  _did_ want to submit. Nothing sounded better than turning and walking away, pretending that none of this had ever happened. He wanted to run and never look back. The idea was so…tempting. To flee and forget about—

Pipit was jerked back to reality by a cacophony of hoarse hacking behind him.

Owlan.

These were the stakes. Submit, or be forced into submission. This time, Pipit would not be moved.

He trembled as his voice broke. "I know you're still in there."

"Yield!" the chorus commanded. Again, the urge to obey assaulted him, but he shoved it aside.

Pipit's lip quivered and he cracked out, "No."

Link's arm was a blur as the back of his glowing hand smashed into Pipit's sternum. He hurtled through the air and crashed into the wardrobe in a shower of splinters. The young knight gasped as his ribs contorted. The room twirled and waltzed to an inaudible concerto, and Pipit tumbled to the floor with a low moan. A swirled haze of colors swayed in his vision, but soon a golden glow encompassed his entire view. Just as everything came back into focus, a blistering vice clamped around his neck, hefted him into the air, and slammed him into the wall.

Pipit tried desperately to take in a breath, but with his airway constricted, he only managed a strained wheeze. Link was inches from his nose in all of his horrible, deific glory. The hand clenched around Pipit's throat seared his skin, and if he had had the capacity, he would have cried out in agony. His body tingled painfully in response to the overflow of energy.

"L...Link…please…" Pipit choked out. The grip tightened. Other voices in the room shouted, but he couldn't make sense of who was speaking or what was said. All he could focus on was the angry, auric face masquerading as his brother. Then even that was starting to go fuzzy as his brain was denied the oxygen it so desperately needed. His lungs burned, begging him to draw a breath, but the pressure on his trachea refused to surrender.

The screaming voices pleaded with the vessel in an incoherent jumble. It all started to slip away as a black halo appeared in the strangled knight's eyesight. Darker it grew, and deeper he sank into the blackness until the only things he could still see were the glowing whites of the hero's eyes. Just as the cold nothingness was about to claim complete victory, the sizzling clamp around his neck loosened a small fraction. It was enough to halt the progress of the all-encompassing black, but not sufficient to win ground back. Distant, distorted murmurs repeated a phrase over and over…a name, maybe? It wasn't his name. It sounded familiar, but Pipit's mind was quickly losing the ability to assign meaning to the slur of sounds. All he knew was that he desperately needed to breathe.

"It's working! Keep saying it!" he made out amidst the static.

Over and over the name was chanted. Link's brows furrowed in confusion as the golden glow dimmed a tiny bit. He shook his head, perhaps trying to sort through the conflicting messages roaring in his mind. Pipit didn't know. It was taking all of his energy to remain conscious. His eyes were starting to roll back into his head, and he tried to fight it, but he was so, so tired.

The hero's eyes squeezed shut for an agonizing moment, his hand still crushing Pipit's throat.

First, the air in the room lost its relentless pressure. Then the scorching heat dissipated. And finally, the divine glow faded into nothingness.

With a startled gasp, Link opened his glassy eyes, and they were bluer than the sky. Dazed and blinking hard, he squinted at the man he gripped by the neck.

"P…Pip…it?"

The hero stared at his brother for a fleeting moment before his eyes lost their focus and he pitched forward. The pressure on Pipit's neck released, and both men crumpled to the ground.

Pipit didn't know how long he laid there gasping, sputtering, and half-conscious before the weight collapsed on his chest was removed. All he could do was suck in the sweet, sweet air that he had been denied. Never before had air tasted so sweet. It was heavenly to his poor, deprived lungs. He didn't even care that each movement twisted a knife into his side. Goddesses be praised for the beauty that was air!

After a moment, his vision returned to him. Karane's face came into focus above him, looking down on him with concern. He let out a low groan at the pain in his ribs and the pounding of his head.

"Pip! Pipit!" she cried, one hand on his cheek, the other frantically stroking his hair.

"I hear you," he rasped.

"Oh, thank the Goddesses!" she sighed in relief.

Pipit eased himself into a sitting position, wincing as he shifted. To his left, the headmaster had recovered and was crouched over Link, who let out breathy moans as he lay only semi-conscious on the floorboards. Horwell helped Owlan emerge from beneath a small pile of displaced books, the latter gingerly rubbing his throat with a series of dry coughs before the two hastily joined their peer. A blistered, hand-shaped welt splayed across the professor's neck, and Pipit could feel the lingering sting of an identical mark on himself.

Instead of tending to Link's serious injuries, the men were staring at Link's arm. No, not his arm; his hand.

"Is that what I think it is?" Owlan asked, his voice hoarse from strangulation.

Gaepora had Link's hand in his own. Three golden triangles slowly pulsed upon it as the hero took in ragged, labored breaths.

"The Triforce…" the headmaster whispered in awe. The teachers gaped at each other, trying to wrap their heads around the significance of such a possibility.

"No." It was Horwell who spoke this time, breaking the long silence. His face was bleached with fear as he stood and took a few steps back. "No, no, no, no. I'm not going near that thing."

"You what?" Gaepora fumed.

"I said I'm done! Do you have any idea how much power that thing has?"

"How can you even—" The headmaster's face grew red.

"He could erase us from existence! He could erase all of Skyloft from existence with nothing but a  _thought_!"

"So what, you're going to sit back and watch him die? Is that it?"

"If we try to take that arrow out again, he is going to kill us! He almost killed Owlan and Pipit just now!"

By now, both men were roaring. "Do you realize just how much is riding on Link? You know the prophecies! You know that he is the one they speak of!"

"Did you not just hear the part about how he is going to KILL US?"

"Even if he does kill us while we try to save his life, it will be worth it!"

"Worth it? WORTH IT? I have a family that I want to see again!"

"You won't for much longer if he fails! If WE fail! And do you honestly think that I don't want to see my daughter again? She's all I have left, and Link is the only person who can get her back!"

"Oh, so that's what this is about? You, putting all of our lives at risk," Horwell spat as he gestured around the room, "just so you can find her?"

Shaking with fury, Gaepora hushed his voice to just above a whisper. Through clenched teeth, he ground out, "Once again, you are allowing your fear to paralyze you,  _Professor_ Horwell."

It was not used as a title. It was an insult.

"How dare you…" Horwell seethed, his face crimson in outrage. "How DARE you bring that up!"

Owlan, who had previously been silent, spoke up. "Enough."

The other two men either didn't hear the soft order or blatantly ignored it.

The headmaster shouted, his flying spittle on the verge of froth, "Your selfish cowardice paralyzed you with my Ayla! Don't you dare—"

"You want to do this again? FINE! YEAH, I FUCKING FROZE WHEN SHE— "

"ENOUGH!" Owlan bellowed. All eyes went wide and snapped to the white-maned professor as the command echoed in the room. He glowered in silence from beneath his eyebrows at each person in the room, demanding obedience and respect. His voice quieted to a low growl as he slowly enunciated, "We are doing this, and we are doing this  _now_." His glare snapped back to Horwell. "Got it?"

The flight instructor could only gape, still raging from the altercation but too shocked at his peer's uncharacteristic outburst to respond.

Owlan didn't wait for him to answer. He angled to the two young knights. "Pipit, Karane, brace his legs above and below the knee. Headmaster, Horwell, hold his arms down, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his wrist. Put a cloth between his skin and yours so it doesn't…burn you."

At that, Owlan scooped the arrow spoon up off of the ground, unceremoniously dunked it in the bottle of alcohol, and torched the still dripping tool above a lit candle. The metal flashed with a blue flame for an instant before he turned and knelt next to Link. Everyone scrambled to their positions above the delirious hero. Everyone save Horwell, that is, who remained frozen in place.

Owlan wouldn't even look at the brown-maned professor as he seethed, "Do it."

Horwell sucked in a breath, getting ready to launch into another string of excuses. But then his angry gaze met Pipit's. With that one look—that pleading look of fear and hopelessness and  _begging_ —his resolve visibly crumbled. Horwell let out an exasperated huff, his fear still boiling but no longer in control. He pinched the bridge of his nose with shaking fingers. Refusing to make eye-contact with anyone, he shook his head and whispered a resigned, "…Okay."

His lips were pressed into a thin line as he took his place. Everyone was in position. Owlan flitted his determined gaze to meet each person's eyes in succession. "Ready?"

Everyone nodded. Pipit was pretty sure he going to throw up.

Owlan took in a deep breath, hesitated for a moment, and plunged the arrow spoon into the wound.

Link immediately tensed up beneath Pipit's hands and let out a bloodcurdling scream. The hero's head slammed backwards, and he writhed against those that would dare restrain him. The Triforce flashed erratically as he bucked. Gold fire once again roared to life over Link's skin. Even through the canvas of the hero's pants, the scorching heat attacked Pipit's palms. Owlan gritted his teeth and stifled back a grunt as the metal tool grew hot and seared his hand.

Link thrashed as his hoarse cries of agony reverberated in the small room, shredding his vocal cords. Owlan was still fishing around for the tip of the arrow, and all of the movement was certainly not making his job any easier. Pipit and the others struggled to hold the hero down. Tears cleared glistening trails through blood and soot as they streamed from the corners of Link's eyes down to his ears. A concussive wave of pressure shot outwards from his broken body, slamming into the team trying so fiercely to save his life. They flinched but endured the hot blast as any settled dust in the room was displaced from its resting point. Another rush of force burst forth, but it was noticeably less intense.

Link's screams slowly devolved into strangled gurgles as Owlan pushed deeper, desperately attempting to locate the arrowhead. The hero's struggles grew weaker and weaker until he could only twitch and jerk against the team. One more wave of hot energy washed over them, but it was so feeble that it only rustled their clothing. The fire shining on the hero's skin faded from brilliant gold to sickly saffron, smoldering until it died out completely. Pipit's stomach floundered about, churning and flipping within his abdomen as he swallowed its contents back yet again.

"Come on, come on…" Owlan begged through clenched teeth.

He changed his grip on the tool, took a sharp breath in, and yanked it and the arrow free. Link's chest lurched upwards, and he let out a choked cry. His eyes rolled back and fluttered shut, his head lolled to the side, the once glowing Triforce melted back into his hand, and the broken hero went limp underneath their hands.

Maybe it was the stench of iron in the air, or possibly the wet squelch of pulling the arrow out of Link's warm chest, perhaps the bloody bits of flesh stuck to its tip, but at that moment, pungent bile was powering its way up from Pipit's gut, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He swung to the side and was violently sick onto the wooden floor. Oh, Goddesses, he couldn't stop retching, and his ribs wailed in torment at the movements. He couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't feel anything but pain as he vomited. His brother's haunting screams echoed in his mind, inducing another round of savage stomach inversions, even though it had been empty to begin with. There was nothing left to give, but his body gave it anyway. Images of the bloody spoon-turned-torture device flashed through his psyche on repeat, forcing him to relive the arrow extraction over and over. His eyes watered as he tried to suck in a breath between dry heaves, but they came in such rapid succession that a new one began before the previous one had ended. His ribcage contorted and shifted with each movement, and the resulting inferno in his side overrode any and all other sensations. All he knew was pain.

"Breathe, Pipit," he heard from someone, somewhere. "Just…breathe."

He focused on the soothing voice and prayed fervently that the attack would pass. The voice talked to him through the last couple of weakening heaves, murmuring words of encouragement before it was finally, finally over.

The first thing he became aware of through the assault of agony was that he was curled up on his side. He didn't remember laying down. His eyes were screwed shut in an attempt to block out the fire in his chest. Someone was crying. Was it Link? No, that wasn't his brother's voice. Whose was it?

"Deeper breaths, Pipit. You're hyperventilating. Deep breaths."

Oh. The airy whimpers were coming from himself.

Well, that would make sense, considering that each time he inhaled, his ribcage stretched and screamed at him. Therefore, he had resorted to taking rapid, shallow breaths that didn't expand his chest and cause him any more pain.

"…C-can't," he managed between superficial gasps, his rasping voice barely above a whisper.

"Why not?" pressed the voice—Karane's voice.

"…Hurts…" he moaned.

She let out a worried sigh. "Professor Owlan, he needs your help," she pleaded

"I can't. There's only one of me. You have a med kit in your room, right?"

"Me? But…but I'm just an apprentice! I don't know what I'm doing!"

"You know more than you realize, Karane," Owlan reassured as he worked. "You can do this."

Pipit heard her take a deep breath to steady her nerves before she was at his side again. She helped him slowly sit up and slung the arm on his good side over her shoulders for extra support. It was a good thing she did, too, because as soon as they stood, a fierce wave of vertigo crashed into Pipit and he tipped to the side. He would have fallen over had she not been propping him up.

"You alright?" she whispered with a surprised grunt as his body stumbled into hers and his head fell against her shoulder.

He blinked hard against the black in his vision, willing it to go away as the world spun. "…Yeah," he panted. "Just…gimme a second."

After the dizziness faded and the floor stopped dancing, they carefully navigated the trek down the hall to Karane's room in a meager attempt to minimize his pain. Pipit did his best to support himself, but his ankle threatened to give out any time he put weight on it.

He groaned as she eased him down into a sitting position on the pink bedspread and unyoked herself. As the strawberry-haired apprentice flitted around the lace-adorned room collecting medical supplies, Pipit leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, propping his head up in his hands.

So much had happened in the past forty-eight hours. Facing fear, danger, and almost certain death, he had snuck past pig-man scouts and ventured into a hostile mountain of fire on a suicidal rescue mission. He had shown bravery as they slashed their way out through horde after horde of monsters, risked his life to get Link's loftwing away from his broken friend, and shown courage as he and the team worked together to keep the hero alive. He should have been proud of himself.

So why did he feel so Goddess-damned empty?

Karane slid a chair up to the bed and shoved a glass of water into his hands. He hastily downed it and the second one she offered, murmuring his thanks. The liquid felt like sandpaper going down his damaged throat, but he was so thirsty that he didn't even care.

"So," she deadpanned as she raised her brows, "it looks like your 'required training' went well."

Pipit stared at her in befuddlement for a moment before he realized he had been caught in his lie. He sighed in defeat and his head drooped. "I'm sorry, Karane. I…" he breathed as he wiped a hand down his grimy face. He really did not want to hash through it right then. "Can we…can we just do this later?"

"What happened down there, Pipit?" she asked with concern.

Not meeting her worried gaze, he replied curtly, "I don't want to talk about it."

"Look, you almost passed out on me back there. You're exhausted, dehydrated, wounded…more so than we realized. I need to know what's going on so I can help you."

Scenes of blood and battle strobed in front of his eyes before he squeezed them shut with a slight grimace. A wave of grief threatened to wash over him, but he forced it back. He couldn't deal with anything else in that moment, so rather than facing a vehement onslaught, he locked all of his emotions inside a stone fortress of numbness.

Later. He would sort through all of that later. Right now, he needed to hold himself together.

"Let's start with why you were holding your side," she said gently. "May I take a look?"

He nodded and gingerly removed the belt around his waist. With a hiss, he peeled the fabric and mail up to expose the injured area, and she got to work assessing the damages. A bloom of black and blue snaked its way up his side, like the result of an overturned ink pot.

"Oh, Pip…"Karane whispered.

He attempted to remove his tunics and hauberk at her request, but any movement that shifted his ribcage sent an agonizing stab into his side. Karane ended up stripping his upper garments for him. As she gently prodded the area, she asked about how it happened, what the weapon was, if it hurt when she pressed on various spots, and if he had been coughing up blood. It was excruciating to endure as each tiny movement sent an electric current through his chest.

By the time her assessment was complete, Pipit was panting and slicked with sweat. The pain had stirred up a swirl of nausea, and he had to focus on his breathing until it faded.

"You're lucky you were wearing your chainmail, and that it was a blade instead of a mace. Otherwise, you'd be in a lot worse shape," Karane explained. "You have some broken ribs—three or four, maybe—but they don't need to be set. You might also have some minor pulmonary contusions, but I don't think there's any other internal damage."

Pipit stared at her in confusion as he took rapid, shallow breaths. "Pulma-whats?"

She blinked for a moment before realizing that she had drifted off into the unfamiliar language of medical terminology. "Sorry, uh…lung bruises. Point is, if you take it easy—and actually breathe deeply like you're supposed to," she added with a knowing look, "—then I think you should recover from this just fine."

Karane then launched into the finer details of his treatment plan. She explained various breathing techniques to ensure proper oxygen intake, how to hug a pillow to his chest so his required coughing exercises were less painful, which potions he could take to help ease the pain, and a whole string of other information he couldn't keep track of.

Pipit tried to pay attention, but his eyes were drooping. They felt so dry, and he was having a hard time keeping them open. He sat numb and unflinching as Karane cleaned and stitched up the laceration in his cheek. His limbs were heavy and leaden. Goddesses, he was tired. Would he ever get to go home and sleep?

As the medical assistant stood to grab a set of ointments for the weeping blisters on his neck, Pipit leaned forward and rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. His mind wandered to his broken, beaten brother, and he couldn't help but worry. Keeping his eyes closed, he rested his elbows on his knees and pressed his palms to his temples in a vain attempt to ease their throbbing.

"Is Link going to be okay?" he rasped, not looking up from his hands as she sat next to him once again.

Putting her hand on his knee, she said, "We're going to do everything we can."

"Just tell me," Pipit whispered. The exhaustion in his body had seeped into his defeated voice as he sat hunched over on her bed. When she hesitated to respond, he dropped his hands and pried his bloodshot eyes open to meet Karane's sympathetic gaze. "Please."

She held his stare for a moment before she sighed and looked to the door. The mask of medical stoicism she had put on was chipping away. Chewing her lip, she reluctantly relented, "I don't know."

Pipit stared at the floor with his teeth clenched and his lips pressed into a hard line, wringing his grimy hands. Tears stung his eyes, and he struggled to keep them from spilling over. Besides his mother, Link was the only family he had left. Everyone else was gone. Without him…Goddesses, Pipit didn't even want to think what life would be like without his brother. Link was his best friend, the person he confided in, the man who knew all of his deepest secrets. Who else would be willing to sneak out of the academy and keep him company on his lonely night patrols? Who was going to be his sword brother when they were officially sworn in as Skyknights? Who else would help him process through the turmoils of his heart when he just couldn't take it anymore and needed someone to talk to?

His bottom lip quivered as his mind went to places he didn't want it to go. He needed to think about something else. Anything else.

Instead, Karane took his calloused, sooty hands in hers. "Hey," she murmured as she rubbed circles into the backs of his hands, "Owlan knows what he's doing. Link is in good hands. It would take a lot to knock him down for good."

His tone quavered as he answered, growing more and more hysterical as he went on. "A lot? You didn't see what happened down there. You didn't find him bloodied and strung up by the wrists." A tear broke free of its confinement and tumbled through the soot on his cheek. "You didn't watch him stumble and fall because the pain was too much for him to handle!" His voice cracked as he shouted, "You weren't there when he jumped in and took an arrow for me because I couldn't handle my own damn fight!"

He was shaking by the time he finished and was surprised at how loud his voice rang in the small room. Karane had recoiled in shock at the outburst, and Pipit tore his tearful gaze away from her. Trembling, he buried his face in his hands and tried to suppress the sobs choked up in his bruised, aching throat.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was Pipit's shuddering breaths. He hadn't meant to blow up at her like that. He had gone too far. Goddesses, he couldn't do anything right today. She didn't need to know about all of that, about the horrors he had seen, the massacre his own hands had caused, or any of the awful things he had gone through on the Surface. But in that moment, he couldn't control the rogue tsunami of despair flooding through him, let alone his interactions with other people. The combination of fear, worry, guilt, exhaustion, and pain wreaked havoc on him and left him weak in their presence. He needed to pull himself together, but the dam holding back his emotional storm was cracking, and he was too overwhelmed to fix it.

Karane hesitantly broke the silence. "I think it's wise not to underestimate Link. He's stronger than you know."

Pipit was hardly comforted by her words. He was too trampled to be able to process anything beyond basic human contact, so he just tightened his fingers in his hair.

A commotion arose in the hallway. A frantic voice rushed past the entryway, demanding answers to a string of questions.

Pipit knew that voice.

"Where is he?" she demanded. "Where is my son!"

"That's…" Karane whispered before she turned and cast the door open, rushing out to meet the woman.

A few seconds later, the door was flung back open. In the frame stood his mother, frozen in shock with dark circles under her eyes and wild curls askew. Her teary eyes gaped in horror at Pipit's sorry state. They roved over the film of ash and dried bokoblin blood blanketing his skin, the stitches sewn through his cheek, the blistered and seeping welt across his throat, and the expanse of purply-blue that ran up his swollen side.

"Pipit?" she choked out, covering her mouth with her hand.

"…Mom…" he whimpered, his voice distorted and uneven.

In an instant, her arms were around him, pulling him into a fierce embrace. His ribs compressed, and he let out a strangled cry at the sudden, stabbing pain. Mallara immediately loosened her grip and attempted to pull away, spewing apologies and begging forgiveness. However, Pipit only pulled her back into him. Right then, he needed someone to hold him and tell him everything was going to be alright, even though he wouldn't believe it.

He just needed his mother.

It started slowly, with quiet hiccups escaping without his permission. He tried to hold it back, but as his inner fortress crumbled, all of the emotions he had shoved away came crashing down on him, and his cries quickly ripened into convulsive sobs. He didn't even care about the excruciating pain from his ribs; the emotional blitzkrieg was in control now, and it hurt so much more than his battered, weary body. The waves surged through him without mercy: dread and overwhelming anguish, loss and piercing heartache, guilt and staggering shame. She stroked his hair, whispering soothing words to comfort him, but the empty phrases fell on deaf ears.

He could only clutch his mom tighter and break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so mean to my characters! D8>
> 
> Thank you for reading! This one is my favorite chapter at the moment, and I am quite proud of it. I hope you all have enjoyed this crazy ride so far. This is the last chapter I have written, and chapter 6 is in the works (ie, no more weekly posts for a looooooong while). It's about to get even more dark, but on a psychological level...which is just going to be so much, uh, fun...to write. Lots of fun. All of the funs. Just...*cringe*
> 
> Okay, I'm not looking forward to taking my brain to that really dark place, but it has to happen.
> 
> For those of you that didn't know, these past five chapters have been finished and posted on fanfiction.net and deviantart for a while now. Chapter 1 was up in April, and 5 was released in August. I only just recently found AO3, and wanted to get this posted here so you could find and enjoy it too! However, what this also means is that it might be a hot minute before chapter 6 is posted. Thankfully, this semester of grad school just ended, so I don't have that stress hanging over me anymore, but I am a very slow writer. Bear with me here on this one.
> 
> I...may or may not be also writing a fluffy little side story in the BotW universe... Can't wait to get that one finished and posted also!
> 
> As always, let me know what you think! If you hated it, I'm sorry! Please tell me why you didn't like it so I can grow as a writer. It's tough to improve at a craft unless people specifically point out thing that could be better. So go ahead. Lay it on me! I can take it. ;)
> 
> Love love love, friends!
> 
> Shnarf


	6. Chapter 6

_Giddy laughter. Sneering grins. Sulfur and bile and blood. Tens, hundreds, thousands of them, pursuing him like a remlit pursues a mouse. Not hunter and prey. Monster and plaything. And he was the plaything. The plaything that didn't know it was already dead._

Run.

_And run he did. Or, rather, run he tried. But he couldn't run. Why couldn't he run? His legs slogged forward through something thick and black, some viscous fluid that reeked of iron, vomit, and sulfur. Boom, boom, boom. Oh, they were really laughing now. Roaring at the futile attempt that was the plaything's escape. But he pushed harder. Faster. He needed to go. Needed to flee! Needed to—_

Run.

_To run! Yes, to run! He needed to run!_

_The fluid was rising now, snaking up his calves from his ankles, cementing his legs in place. Heart pounded in alarm. Chest heaved in panic. He tried to force himself forward, straining through the sludge, swimming with his arms. He needed to escape! They were going to kill him! No, NO! He didn't want to die!_

_A wave of dry heat blasted his body. The fluid was wrapped around his thighs now, binding him in place. Thick tendrils snatched his wrists and held him aloft. Arms shackled. Legs immobile. He writhed. He thrashed. He screamed, cried,_ pleaded  _to be released._

Run.

_They shrieked in delight. Oh, this was the moment they had all been waiting for. The final capture of the plaything. Drums pounded, pulsing through his body with savage ferocity. Boom, boom, boom. The putrid molasses boiled and bubbled, swelling up in front of him. It dripped off of a dark figure in thick plops._

Run!

_The black grease parted to reveal a fanged smirk, then a pair of blood-red eyes. Helpless, he spat at the demon, who only chuckled. Boom, boom, boom. A clawed hand caressed his cheek, and he couldn't help but shiver in disgust. Raucous jeering. A malicious smile. The snap of fingers._

_The fluid prowled up his chest, flattening out over him like a second skin. It encompassed him, crawling up his spine, up his neck. No. No! He didn't want this! He wanted to live!_

_It paused in front of his face for an agonizing moment. He squirmed within his prison, pointlessly resisting the inevitable. The demon howled in victory._

_"Take him."_

_Then the blackness was forcing itself down his throat, up his nose, and into his body. Choking, gasping, seizing. It shoved its way into his lungs, suffocating and smothering._

_Too much! It was too much! He needed to breathe! He needed to break free! He needed—needed—_

Run!

_To run! He needed to run! But the evil wasn't just invading his body anymore. No, it was seeping through his form into something deeper, and it began to wrest control for itself. Thick, hot oil splashed into his eyes, searing and blinding and thieving. It wrapped around his chest, crushing, molding, reforming. It was shearing him apart and forging him into something new, something terrifying. The ropes inside his belly spread out, forcing their way through his guts and into his blood. He wanted to scream, wanted to cry, but he was powerless against the onslaught. As it wove itself into the very core of his soul, it began to steal his light and putrefy his spirit. It was obliterating him, piece by piece, starting with his mind._

_Bones crunched beneath the pressure, snapping and twisting as he was transmuted. He needed air! Needed to breathe! But the thick sludge was stuck in his lungs, stuck in his throat, stuck in his mouth. His chest heaved, pleading for the air to rush in, but no respite was found._

_Laughter echoed, haunting and vile and achingly familiar. Convulsing, he tried to tear himself free, but it was too late. He wasn't himself anymore. He was becoming something different. Something foul._

_No! He couldn't! It was too much! Hot and cold and searing and stretching and crunching and—and—and it was killing him! He was going to die!_

_Except he never did. Death would have been too sweet. Or…maybe not. He didn't_ have  _to fight against it. After all, what difference would it make? He was trapped, plain and simple. He had done it to himself, too, gotten so wrapped up in being the hero and saving the Goddess-damned day. Now, here he was. Pathetic, weak, helpless._

_Anger riled within him, something deep and carnal and true. He hated being weak. To be weak was to be a burden. To be weak was to be useless._

_He could not be weak. Would not be weak._

_He would fight against the weakness, and he would win._

_Deep inside of himself, the blackness retrieved his vulnerabilities, the things he kept close, the flaws to be exploited, the tender care he held for those most precious to him. It teased them out and held them aloft in front of him._

_Love was a millstone around his neck._

_Emotions would only hold him back, drag him down._

_He gave the word._

_His weaknesses were crushed._

_The darkness released him, easing him down to the ground. Yellow grins flashed through the night. He didn't have to worry, though. He wasn't weak anymore. They couldn't break him._

_He would break them first._

_The dark figure motioned him closer, dripping with blood and pitch. Oh, it would get what it deserved. He charged towards it, blurred vision pulsing scarlet with rage. Closer and closer. Boom, boom, boom. He would kill it. He would slaughter it. It would pay._

_No weapons. Didn't need weapons. He slashed out with his hands, and his fingers sliced through the monster too easily, like a knife through fog. It sneered, piercing into him with his blood-moon eyes. Cackling in delight, it dissipated into the wind like smoke, seeping into the pitch and vanishing from sight, taking the creatures with it._

_Then he was alone, and the resulting silence roared in his ears._

_Writhing in fury, he snarled, crying out to the godless skies. Someone would pay. There would be justice at his hands. Boom, boom, boom. His heart thrashed in his chest. Anger coiled tighter and tighter inside him, ready to explode._

_A glint caught his eye. Within the pool of black, a distorted reflection glowered up at him._

_His reflection._

_He blinked as his heart skipped a beat._

… _That was him?_

_Horror broke through his fortress of fury, shattering the glass walls. The world around him quaked and began to crumble. His hands shook and his knees buckled, landing in the blood-pitch with a thick splash. Beady eyes glared back at him from within the mirror pool._

_He was—oh Goddesses, no! No, that wasn't him! It couldn't be!_

_The reflection menacing back at him was not one of a man._

_He wasn't a Skyknight anymore._

_He was the darkness._

Pipit bolted awake with a terrified cry and rocketed out of the bed. At first contact with the cold floor, his ankle buckled beneath his weight, and the young knight crumpled to the ground. The collision jarred his fractured ribs and his already throbbing head whacked the boards. Gasping and wheezing, he clutched his bare chest as he skidded to a halt. Oh, Goddesses, it hurt more today. Moving would likely make it worse, so he lay there on his good side, trying to catch his breath without moving his chest too much.

What the hell was that dream? He could still feel the pressure of the cold blackness against his skin, spreading thick and oppressive over his form. The jeers and laughter echoed in his ears. The crushing force on his chest clung to him, just as it had before it crunched his bones. The hairs on his arms prickled in revulsion at the memory, and he shuddered in disgust.

It was just a nightmare. It wasn't real. Just a dream, nothing more. Just a dream. Just a dream. Just—

"Pipit!"

The wooden divider groaned across the hard floor and in barreled Karane. She rushed to him and knelt at his side. "Are you alright?"

"Define alright," he moaned, blinking as his vision began to focus.

Above him, Karane gave a slight sigh. "Well if you're making jokes with me, you're not dying." He turned to look up at her, and found her gazing down on him with a sympathetic smile. "Come on," she said. "Let's get you up off of the ground."

Easing into a sitting position, he mumbled his thanks for her assistance. Everything was sore, and he tried not to stretch or twist his ribcage as he limped back towards the bed, good arm slung over her shoulder. A fierce wave of vertigo nearly took him to back down to the floor, but Karane was there to support him through it.

"Why am I so dizzy?" he rasped, voice raw from the previous night's events, as the floor rolled beneath his feet.

"Well, when was the last time you ate anything?"

Pipit blanked. When  _was_ his last meal? Other than the handful of sour berries and stale bread he had scarfed down on the Surface—

— _The thick pitch forced itself down his throat—choking him_ — _smothering him_ — _he needed air—couldn't breathe—couldn't—_

"Exactly," Karane said matter-of-factly, startling Pipit back to reality as his heart pounded away in his chest. "It's normal to be lightheaded when you  _don't eat for three days_. "

He swallowed, fruitlessly trying to banish the feeling of thick corruption from his gullet.

It was a dream. A stupid, stupid dream. It would pass.

Once he was seated upon a pink quilt, he realized aloud, "I slept in your bed last night?"

"And most of the day too," she said as she pulled up a chair. "It's nearly sundown, so you've been sleeping for about eighteen hours."

Pipit raked his fingers back through his hair as his ears warmed. "I'm sorry, Karane. I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry about it, Pip," she said as she swept her tousled locks into a messy ponytail. "You were exhausted. After you calmed down a bit, I had you lay back so I could take a look at your ankle. Not twenty seconds later you were asleep, on top of the covers and everything. Your mom brought you those extra blankets so we didn't have to disturb you. I was going to bring you some food after your wounds were dressed, but since you dozed off while I was manipulating your badly sprained ankle, I figured you needed the rest."

He nodded with a grimace as she pulled his injured ankle into her lap and unwound the supporting bandages for a closer examination. "Doesn't that look, well, kind of scandalous?" he said. "I mean, I slept in the women's wing, in a woman's bed—in  _your_  bed—last night."

Karane smirked and waved a hand in dismissal, though her cheeks were rosier than they had been a moment earlier. "It's not like Zelda is was going to use hers," she said as she pointed a thumb at the wooden screen separating the two rooms. "And besides, after everything that happened, where you slept is the least of people's concerns."

He cringed, partly at the way she manipulated his ankle. "That bad?"

"It's the talk of the town. A wailing loftwing in the dead of night, two mounts tearing at each other's throats, a swarm of Skyknights called in to subdue them… It's quite the tale." As she rewrapped the joint, she continued, "I'm not sure if anyone actually knows the real story other than the professors, Headmaster Gaepora, and us. They want to keep it that way, too, considering this involves an artifact only whispered of in half-remembered legends."

Pipit nodded and pulled his foot back to the floor after she secured the bandage. It made sense to keep it all a secret. Something with that much power could easily be exploited if it fell into the wrong hands. "Speaking of loftwings, how are they? Is my bird okay?"

The hand going for a washcloth froze. Karane chewed her lip for a moment before she murmured, "He'll survive, but he is going to be out of the skies for a while. You both will."

Brow furrowed in worry, Pipit demanded, "What happened?"

Her ears drooped. With a sigh, Karane said, "It was bad, Pip. The skyknights had never seen anything like it before. Loftwings don't fight like that—like Red did. It was like he  _knew—_ "

"What did Red do to my loftwing _?_ "

She paused, breaking eye contact. "He snapped its wing."

— _Bones crunched, bending and twisting, contorting beneath the force—molding him into something terrible and putrid—something corrupted—_

Pipit sucked in a shaky breath as his stomach dropped to his feet. A chill ran down his spine, and he shuddered.

It was a dream. Just a dream. He needed to focus.

A broken wing was a curse for a loftwing. They weren't meant to be grounded. They were creatures of the sky; taking away their flight was devastating. Granted, it meant  _he_  was stuck on land too, but he could deal with being cooped up for a while. For a loftwing, though…

"How long?" he asked, mouth dry.

"Standard is six weeks, longer if he keeps trying to break out of his stall to come find you," she said with a slight smile. "He must be really worried about you."

Pipit usually checked in through their bond every few hours. The poor thing was probably panicked; he had been asleep for eighteen hours and hadn't checked in at all. Feeling guilty, he sighed and wiped a hand down his face. "I'll have to go show him I'm alright. I doubt anything else would be enough."

Karane agreed before moving to gently remove the bandage around his neck. Pipit frowned; he did not remember that particular wound being tended to.

"When…" he said, motioning towards it.

"Right before I wrapped your ankle," she replied, gently unwinding the white fabric as he tilted his chin up for easier access. "As tired as you were, I'm not surprised you don't remember. You didn't even stir while we cleaned and dressed it."

"We?"

"Your mom helped."

He hadn't considered his mother. She must have been an emotional wreck. "Is she doing alright?"

"She's better than she was. Before you came back, though, she was a frantic mess. Seeing and taking care of you has helped a lot. Sorry, this will probably sting," she added before she began to ease the innermost layer of crusted gauze away from the seeping blisters on his throat.

He hissed through his teeth as the fabric was removed and the air nipped at the exposed wound. Some parts of it throbbed; others were strangely numb. Karane gave it a quick once over, murmuring to herself as she examined it. One she was satisfied, she turned and began slathering a poultice of honey and fragrant herbs onto a fresh section of bandages.

"It isn't infected, which is better than I expected. However, it will leave a nasty scar. You will have to keep it bandaged for a while, and I'll change the dressing twice a day until the blisters heal. After that, you won't need to keep it covered, but you might want to wear a scarf for a while to hide the mark."

Pipit grimaced. "I hate scarves. They're scratchy, and it always feels like—"

"—Like ants are crawling up your neck no matter how much they are worn or washed, I know, I know," Karane interrupted with an amused smile. She began to loosely wind the honeyed gauze around his neck. "Would you rather describe to every curious soul how you obtained a hand-shaped burn on your throat?"

Pipit's mouth opened and closed, failing to come up with a response that supported his view. She had a point. Begrudgingly, he said, "I guess I had better get used to the damn things, then."

Wearing an itchy scarf was undoubtedly better than trying to explain how his own brother had nearly killed him with his own hands. Not that he could fully explain what actually happened or how exactly the handprint had been seared into his skin.

But that hadn't actually been his brother, though. No, that wasn't Link; it was…that thing, the Triforce-thing. Pipit had no idea what it wanted with Link. Was it sentient? Did it have a will of its own? It had certainly seemed so the other night. How could it seize control of someone like that?

What kind of terrifying power could take his brother from barely conscious to throwing people across the room?

Too many questions. Too many complicated questions he didn't have answers to. It was making Pipit's headache worse. Then again, maybe that was just the dehydration.

He really hoped Link was alright, that his brother was still in there somewhere, that the Triforce hadn't permanently taken control.

Karane fastened the gauze around his neck and moved to examine the stitches in his cheek. As she removed the covering bandage, Pipit asked, "How's he doing?"

The medical apprentice sighed and applied a cooling ointment to the skin. "He's hanging in there, but it's too soon to predict which way it will go."

"Is he awake?"

She shook her head. "In time. He has a hard battle in front of him, but Link's a fighter." In a quieter tone, she added, "He has someone he's fighting for." Her hands paused after adhering a new bandage, sullen eyes lost in thought.

"You miss her," he said gently.

"It's hard not to," she said, dropping her hands to her knees. "She's been gone for months now. It's painful sitting next to her empty chair in class, knowing she should be there. Some days, I don't even think about her, but others it just hits me and I…" Her hands fisted in the fabric of her pants as she took a steadying breath. "Then Link goes missing for days or weeks at a time and always comes back looking so haggard and bearing new scars… It makes me worry if she's alright. And then  _you_  go off and lie to me—don't think I didn't piece that together as you were leaving—and you come back like  _this_ —" she gestured to the swollen field of blue on his side as the corners of her mouth began to twitch downward, "—and then I'm trying to help stitch up my dying friend, who is somehow launching people through wardrobes, and—" her voice cracked, "—and I can only watch as he holds you up by the throat, and then your eyes are rolling back into your head and you stop moving and—and—" A tear broke free of its confines and tumbled down her cheek. Her shoulders shook and her chin quivered.

"Pipit, I was so  _scared_ ," she said through red, watery eyes.

He had been terrified too. The reminder of the Triforce's raw power caused the hair on his arms to stand on end. The burn on his throat still pulsed, and he could almost smell the acrid stench of burning flesh. Link's screams echoed in his ears as he relived the arrow extraction.

An involuntary shiver ran down his spine. No, he couldn't focus on that. He needed to be strong. She needed him to be strong.

Letting out a shaky breath and shoving the awful memories back, he gently placed his hand over hers. "Come here," he whispered, motioning to the bed. She allowed him to lead her to the covers next to him and she immediately sat, hugged her knees to her chest, and buried her face into his shoulder. His arm curved around her, and he stroked her hair. Her breathing came in and out in shuddering breaths as she tried to suppress her tears.

Pipit leaned his head against hers and stroked her strawberry hair. "It's going to be okay," he murmured, mostly to her. "You don't have to worry about me anymore."

She nodded against his shoulder and wiped at her eyes. They were both silent for a moment as she reigned in her emotions. In a weak voice, she said, "I'm glad you're alright."

"That depends on your definition of alright," he corrected with a crooked smile.

She chuckled a bit in response and sniffled. "Then I'm glad you're mostly alright."

It seemed she was content to rest her temple against his shoulder, and he was content to have her form nestled into the crook of his arm. He had really missed her, and having her close was a huge comfort to his battle-weary self. Maybe one day, he would tell her that she was one of the reasons he kept fighting, even when he was surrounded and outnumbered by pig-man-things that wanted him dead.

Well, that would involve explaining all he went through down there, on the Surface, and he didn't want to burden her with that. Nobody needed to be burdened with that.

No, that he would keep to himself.

Against him, her breathing evened and slowed. A crooked smile crept onto Pipit's face. He was glad that she was calming down. He had mentioned going out to see the hatchlings once he returned, but with broken ribs and a grounded loftwing, it seemed that was not going to happen anytime soon. "I guess—"

Karane startled and sucked in a sharp breath. Her eyes darted around for a moment before settling on Pipit, who was thoroughly confused. She visibly relaxed and leaned against him once more.

Gently, he asked, "Did you doze off?"

She nodded, rubbing an eye with the heel of her hand. "It's been a long day."

"Have you gotten any sleep?" he said, only now noticing the dark circles under her bloodshot eyes.

She shook her head. "Only before you knocked on my door. I've been up helping Owlan since."

"Has  _he_  gotten any sleep?"

Karane chuckled lightly. "Probably not. I don't think he would be able to even if he tried. I offered to take the first watch over Link so he could get some rest, but he wouldn't hear it." She stifled a yawn and blinked the fatigue back. "Now what were you going to say?"

He scratched at the back of his head. It seemed silly now, waking her just for this. She was waiting on his response, though, so he couldn't back out now. Hesitant, he managed, "I guess I won't be able to keep my promise after all. Do you want me to tell you where the nest is so you can see the hatchlings?"

Karane gave him a flat stare for a moment before it clicked. "Oh, uh, no. That won't be necessary." Her toe drew circles into the floorboards. "It wouldn't be the same without you," she added with a tiny smile.

"There won't be any more hatchlings for another year. Are you sure?"

She nodded. "I can wait until then."

A bloom of warmth sprouted within Pipit. "It's a date, then."

"I'll hold you to it this time," she said as she stood to head back to bed.

"Oh, Karane?" he added, stopping her in her tracks. "You, uh…you have a little…on your cheek…" he trailed off, motioning towards the gray smudge. It must have rubbed off on her while she was leaning against his shoulder.

Which meant that he was still covered in grime.

She rubbed at her face and peered at the resulting spot of ash on her fingers. Then she shrugged and replied with a smirk, "Yeah, well, you've got a little…" she gestured up and down his body, "…all over you."

It was also all over the blankets he had passed out on, he noticed as he ran his hand over the covers. Pointlessly trying to brush some of the soot off, he said, "I can wash these for you, if you'd like—"

She waved the notion off. "I have other laundry to take care tomorrow of anyway. I'll just wash 'em then. Anyway, if you hurry, you might be able to get into the wash room and take a bath before a certain someone gets in there an hogs the tub. Still haven't figured out who that is…" she trailed off.

"Are you trying to tell me I need a bath?" he said with a playful smirk.

She snorted and put her fists on her hips. "Yes," she emphasized. Amused, she continued, "Now, if you don't mind, I need to go lay down, or I'll fall asleep where I stand." She moved to head back to Zelda's room.

"Before you go, there's…one more thing," Pipit said. She looked back to him, expression changing and when she saw the sincerity in his eyes. He hesitated. Even with bags under her eyes and hair disheveled, she was beautiful. Anyone could see that. He suddenly felt sheepish and shifted his gaze to the floor as his ears warmed.

She had stayed up all night tending to his wounds and all day tending to his brother's, and here she was yet again, putting his needs before her own.

She was something else.

He didn't deserve her, not after all that had just happened. Not after all he had done.

She shifted, bringing Pipit back to reality. He cleared his throat and said, "Uh…thanks for, you know, for taking care of me and all."

At first, there was silence. Then she walked over to him with a gentle smile, bent down, and lightly kissed his grimy cheek.

"Goodnight, Pipit."

* * *

After his much needed bath, in which he ended up having to completely drain the brackish water and refill the tub, he found himself hobbling down to the kitchens, using the single crutch Karane had left for him. Originally, he had been grateful for the baggy tunic she had provided; considering his fractured side, it was much less painful to struggle into than one of his more fitted shirts. But now, as his crutch repeatedly snagged the extra fabric on the way down the stairs, he was beginning to doubt its worth. He was so preoccupied fiddling with the tunic that he nearly bumped into Headmaster Gaepora. The large man expressed his relief in seeing Pipit up and about, and thanked him for his bravery. After some small talk—and a reminder that he was not, under any circumstances, to tell anyone of the incident the other night—the headmaster ambled upstairs with a towel slung over his shoulder.

The young knight was grateful for the headmaster's departure. His stomach clawed away inside him, begging to be fed. It had been almost three days since he had eaten a proper meal, and Pipit was really feeling it. Even if there was only some hard bread and an apple leftover from dinner, he needed  _something_.

To the kitchens it was, then. With it being late evening, old Henya would have gone home already, so it was likely he would find his mother working at this hour. As he managed down the hallway, the temperature began to rise. The closer he got, the warmer it became. He found himself drawing the collar of his loose shirt away from his neck in discomfort. It was a dry heat, one that was far too familiar for his liking. A whiff of sulfur soon reached his nostrils, and he began to grow restless. The rank smell reminded him too much of his fight out of the molten mountain, where the very rocks reeked of death.

Maybe he didn't want to go to the kitchens after all.

His stomach immediately objected. He needed food, and food was in the kitchens; he would have to tough it out. It was just a bad smell and some heat, after all. Nothing to get worked up about. He could handle it.

The young knight limped through the archway, using the crutch to take the extra weight off of his wounded ankle. Within the sweltering kitchen, managing several different things at the same time, was his mother. Her brow was slicked with sweat, and the apron covering her patched dress was dusted with flour. She was kneading a ball of dough against the butcher block counters, and didn't notice him enter.

"Hey, Mom," he said softly.

She startled and whipped around, brushing a few stray locks out of her face. A grin widened across her flushed face. "Pipit!" she exclaimed, abandoning the dough on the counter and striding over to embrace her son. He shrunk away, trying to prevent any further contortion to his ribs, so after some awkward deliberation she settled for a gentle side hug. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

He smirked sheepishly and shrugged as she stepped back. "I've been better."

Her ears twitched. "Your voice! It sounds terrible."

Pipit dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. "It's just a little hoarse. It'll clear up in a day or two," which was only half-true. There was no need to tell her why he was so hoarse.

Granted, she had helped bandage his neck, so she probably already knew.

If she did, she didn't mention it. She smiled, though her eyes were sad. "I was so worried about you. These past few days, I almost…" She seemed to lose herself in thought before she recollected herself with a breath. Plastering on a polite mask, she said, "You must be hungry, yes? When's the last time you've eaten?"

In perfect timing, his stomach voiced its desire.

She chuckled softly, the amused glint in her eyes seeping into the rest of her expression. "I know my son. Growing boys need their food." she said, striding back to her dough to finish it up. "I have a few quick things to attend to, but then I can heat you up some of the leftovers from dinner tonight."

As much as he wanted to reprimand her for referring to him as a child, food was too appealing to turn down. His stomach, however, was in a state of conflict. The stench of sulfur was nearly overwhelming inside the kitchen. His nose crinkled at the smell, and he found himself searching for the source.

"Mom—ugh—what in Skyloft are you making?"

"The smell?" She glanced over her shoulder as she worked the dough. "Sorry about that. I was trying to get breakfast prepped for Henya tomorrow and didn't realize two of my cucco eggs had gone rotten until I cracked them open. I haven't had a chance to take the trash out yet," she said, nodding at the source of the rank stench in the corner.

He nodded, brow furrowed, trying to ignore the pervasive odor. On the opposite countertop rested a raw leg of lamb upon a wet butcher block. Next to the block lay a large meat cleaver, one with striking similarities to the very one he had been struck with on the Surface. It was already smeared with blood from a previous butchering session, likely just minutes before his arrival. His lip twitched at the sight. Subconsciously, he put more distance between himself and the weapon. He had dealt with enough cleavers for the time being; there was no need for him to associate with this one.

That didn't stop his heart from beating faster.

His mother shaped the now thoroughly kneaded dough into a loaf and set it aside to rise. After dabbing at her brow and wiping her hands on her apron, she snatched up a wooden peel from beside the oven and slid it beneath a different loaf that was ready to be baked. She headed towards the oven, and motioned towards it with her head.

"Would you be so kind as to open that for me? My hands are occupied at the moment," she said as she held the peel in both hands.

He hobbled over to the oven, managing to the best of his ability in his injured state. The heat, paired with the stench of rotten eggs and the sight of the cleaver, had him strangely agitated, and he couldn't put his finger on why. He opened the oven door for his mother. A blast of dry heat hit him, and he screwed his eyes shut in response.

A shudder ran down his spine, and he felt the world around him shift and morph.

When opened his eyes once more, the kitchen was gone, replaced by an expanse of rock, ash, and liquid fire.

He suppressed a gasp. This was—it couldn't be—

No, he didn't want this. He didn't want to be here.

He was back down on the volcano.

His heart thumped in his chest faster and faster. Boom, boom, boom. His body was frozen in terror. Everything moved too fast, and the figure in front of him blurred through his reality.

The hand that went to grip the rusty meat cleaver was not his mother's. It bore stumpy, brown fingers and yellowed claws crusted with blood.

It was the bokoblin commander.

It snatched the tool up from the rock, positioned the limb on the surface, and cleaved it in two in a swift stroke. The two resulting pieces twitched. He could hear more of the monsters around him, their war cries echoing just out of sight, their hot breath creeping down his back, but he was transfixed on the decorated swine in front of him, paralyzed in fear.

A putrid mix of sulfur, rotting flesh, and death assaulted his nostrils. The heat was suffocating. His feet were cemented in place, and every muscle in his body tensed. He couldn't move. Couldn't think. Needed to breathe, needed—

The creature before him turned to face him, growling through its teeth. The monster stalked towards him with cleaver in hand, drops of thick crimson spilling off the blade and sizzling on the scorching rocks.

He needed to get away. Needed to run.

A hand reached for him and dug into his shoulder.

No, it was going to—he needed to—he was—

"Pipit, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

He startled and sucked in a breath as the vision shattered. His mother's blue eyes peered into his own, her expression concerned.

…What?

Pipit's gaze flitted around as his heart hammered away in his chest. The volcanic rocks and ash were gone. He was back in the academy kitchen. The oven still blasted him with heat; in his stunned state, he had never closed the door.

What in Skyloft had just happened? It had felt so real. Too real. The panic pulsing through him had his stomach twisted into knots.

He shook his head, trying to clear the experience from his mind, and composed himself. After taking a steadying breath, he managed out, "Yeah, I'm…I'm fine. Sorry, my ribs."

His mother's ears drooped in sympathy. "Do you want to go sit down? I can bring your food to you."

He nodded, murmuring his thanks, before he stiffly hobbled over to a nearby table, away from the direct heat of the fire. He sank into the wooden bench and wiped his sweat-slicked face. Trying to control his breathing, he focused on the whorls in the grain of the table. His eyes traced the lines and swirls in an attempt to stop replaying the scene he had just witnessed.

Eventually, a steaming bowl appeared before him, and he mechanically forced food he couldn't taste into a stomach that no longer wanted it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm so glad to finally get this posted! I avoided writing it for a long time, because I have to go into some dark things from my past to make it what it needs to be. Chapter 7 is already well under way, along with various scenes from later chapters. Writing is a slow process for me, as a full-time graduate student and full time graduate-assistant, but it is something I look forward to. You guys are one of the major driving forces keeping me going, and I deeply appreciate all of the feedback and encouragement (and grace!) you have given me. I am sorry that it took so long to share this with you, but I hope it was worth it.
> 
> If you loved it, hated it, or were superbly "meh" about it, please let me know. I welcome your feedback, whether praise or criticism.
> 
> Love love love, friends!
> 
> Shnarf


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guess what? I'm not dead! I'm still plugging away at this, and I have been for a while. I have a good 12,000 words written for future chapters...but none of the scenes have been written in order. That is part of why this chapter was delayed for so long. The other reason was my neuroscience class. Need I say more?
> 
> I won't. I'll just let you get to what you came here for.

For the first several days, Pipit did little more than sleep. His body was healing, and it demanded that he rest, so rest he did. Not that he could have kept his eyes open anyway; the pull to sleep was too strong. Very quickly, he learned that he couldn't lay flat until his ribs healed. The first time he tried, he couldn't even get up on his own; it was too painful. Sleeping in the lounge chairs was not a pleasant solution either, because he would invariably tip to the side and jolt awake, gasping and clutching his ribs like his hand was the only thing holding them together. After some trial and error, he settled on placing an upended kitchen chair at the head of his bed with pillows padding the now diagonal back so he could lay somewhat reclined. It was hardly perfect, but it was better than any alternative he had found. To say it was comfortable was a stretch, but it at least made it easier to sleep.

Sleep. Hah. After those first few days had passed, sleep became a twisted joke, a seductive siren call that he resisted until he physically couldn't. Every time he inevitably nodded off, he would find himself in that pool of blackness, running from or fighting against some dark figure with the familiar voice he could never place, oil stalking over his chest, coating his neck, surging up his nostrils. It would twist him and crush him and break his bones until he was no longer himself. He would scream and thrash, plead and cry, beg for respite until he lurched awake with his heart thrashing, ribs throbbing, and lungs pleading for air. The horror shows plagued him to the point that he became afraid of falling asleep. He instead chose to hold vigil or keep busy with mindless tasks until morning came.

Oh, how he wished he had something of purpose to do at night, something to keep the nightmares at bay. With his broken ribs and injured ankle, he couldn't very well cover his designated night patrols. Fledge was assigned to cover for him until his six weeks of mandatory recovery time had passed. But with such vivid visions assaulting him each night, he found himself limping along his old patrol routes anyway. At first, he used the crutch Karane had lent him, but it made him sore where the shoulder rest dug into his armpit. So rather than avoid the nightly walks, he instead wrapped the joint tightly before slipping it into his worn out and now burnt boots. He might as well be useful and do something productive. His other alternatives never panned out well.

As well-intentioned as Fledge was, he had not been prepared for the physical strain of taking on all of Pipit's shifts. Pipit had originally signed up for the majority of the night patrols, and poor Fledge wasn't used to going on such little sleep. On his new nightly strolls, Pipit often found the younger student nodding off at his station or leaning against a wall, fast asleep. Ignoring the strange bloom of jealousy he felt as his peer blissfully slept the night away, Pipit never woke him. He didn't have the heart to. Thus, even though he was still technically on medical leave, he ended up filling most of his own shifts anyway.

Karane remained true to her word and changed his bandages twice daily and supervised his chest exercises. If he wasn't outside her dorm by the designated times, she would invariably show up at his mother's house with a basket full of dressings and poultices. She would sit next to him on the bed and tend to the fragile, healing skin on his neck. More often than not, the new tissue came off with the bandages, so he learned to down a red potion at least fifteen minutes before his treatments. He hated how jittery the concoctions made him feel, and though they helped him stay awake for a while, he crashed hard once they wore off. One time, Karane had him do his awful breathing exercises in his house, but the ambient haze of dust attacked his lungs and made him cough so much that he had to stagger outside into cleaner air, just to breathe. He was on his hands and knees by the time his chest stopped convulsing and he could take desperate, ragged gasps.

After that, he made sure he was never late for his treatments again.

Classes resumed a day or two after he had returned with Link, and not a word was mentioned to the other students about why they had been canceled in the first place. Though he was exhausted and sore, Pipit showed up and payed attention the best he could without fussing with the itchy scarf around his neck. Professor Owlan was uncharacteristically tired, sporting dark circles under his eyes and stifling yawns he tried to hide, but he spoke and taught with all of his usual grace and wisdom. Only when the professor moved a certain way did the young knight catch a glimpse of the white bandages beneath the professor's own scarf, hiding the hand-shaped burn they shared.

When Pipit went to check on Link later that evening, Owlan let him sit with his unconscious brother and watch his chest steadily rise and fall. They had cleaned him up and tidied his hair, but Link looked so frail, his pale skin marred with burns, bruises, and bandages. He had not yet woken, and they didn't know when or if he would.

"Is he going to be okay?" Pipit had asked, hoping for an answer he knew he wouldn't receive.

Owlan peered pensively down at Link as he slept. Softly, he replied, "I hope so."

The days dragged by in a washed-out blur. His mother worked, the teachers taught, his classmates studied, and Pipit grew restless waiting. He flirted with hobbies, hoping to keep his consciousness active and drown out the dark whispers in the back of his mind, but he couldn't do much in his physical state. He kept up in his classes, forcing himself to read three chapters ahead in each textbook, but that could only fill so much time. He tried novels, though he had to give those up once he realized they made him sleepy. Thus, the young knight passed many of the dark hours studying loftwings from his father's old tomes, quizzing himself on information he already knew by heart.

Slowly, and with a certain degree of despair, Pipit realized that everyone resumed their normal, daily routines, and life went on around him. He tried to jump back into his previous roles, but interacting with his usual circle left him feeling distant, hollow, and strangely antsy. Most of what he once loved now felt inconsequential, like it had never mattered. He went through the motions nonetheless, plastering on a polite mask, engaging in mind-numbing conversations, and trying to ignore how the shadows in the corners made the hair on his neck stand on end.

It was as if life as he knew it had left him straggling behind, clutching at a threadbare blanket of normalcy that unraveled the more he clung to it. As he continued on with night after night of fragmented sleep and haunting nightmares, he was left with nothing more than tangled, remnant threads, taunting him with that normalcy he once took for granted.

He hoped that if he just ignored it and powered through the onslaught, it would lessen and eventually dissolve entirely.

He was wrong.

* * *

One evening, long after the other students had retired to their rooms for the night, he found himself sitting in the academy dining hall, wringing his hands while Karane prepared tea in the adjoining kitchen. She had asked him to join her, though she seemed hesitant and uncomfortable about the prospect. She kept meeting his gaze and abruptly looking away as she filled the teapot and stoked the fire. It was just the two of them. Any other day, it would have been a relaxing time enjoying each other's company. But Karane seemed afraid to speak. What was going on?

Outside, a windstorm buffeted the academy walls. It had picked up earlier that evening, and the beams creaked with each gust. The building's groaning had him oddly tense and uneasy, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. Several minutes passed in relative silence before Karane came to the table with two steaming cups of warm safflina tea. He quietly thanked her as she placed one on the saucer in front of him before sitting down on the other side of the table. Her petite hands curled around the mug's ceramic exterior, and she stared down into the amber liquid, deep in thought.

After a moment, she said, "I, uh…I made you your favorite."

Pipit nodded and thanked her. He knew she preferred Hyrule Herb tea.

"Honey?" she offered, holding out the jar and spoon.

"No thanks," Pipit politely declined, favoring his straight. Not yet, though; it was much too hot. If he tried to drink it now, it would scald his mouth. He'd have to let it cool for a few minutes first.

And so, they sat. Neither held the other's gaze for long before breaking eye contact. Karane idly sipped, and Pipit chewed on the inside of his lip.

It was odd how she was behaving. Karane was usually a fireball of energy. Seeing her act so meekly made Pipit uncomfortable. Though it seemed she, too, was uncomfortable as she fiddled with a bracelet or traced her thumb over the creases of her palm.

Pipit quickly grew tired of waiting. "What's on your mind?" he asked, intending to sound gentle, but his impatience leaked out into his tone.

Karane opened her mouth to speak, but then hesitated. She stirred her tea for a few seconds before stating, "You've been…on edge lately."

He furrowed his brow and took a steady breath in and out, assessing her claim. "I suppose so," he admitted reluctantly. He did not like where this conversation was going.

"…Do you know why?"

"Probably, yeah," he said, trying to end the conversation before it could truly begin. He met her gaze and she waited, expecting him to continue. He sighed and shifted his focus to the wall, the table edge, the wood grain. He really did not feel like getting into it right then and there. Anything he could say would just sound like complaining anyway. Besides, it was his burden to bear, and he didn't want to put any more of his struggles on other people. Hylia knew that between the ankle, his throat, and his ribs, he was burdening Karane enough as it was.

She was his girlfriend. He was supposed to support her and build her up, to empower her to do great things, not weigh her down with…whatever it was he was dealing with.

"Will you tell me about it?"

And there it was.

He ran his fingers through his hair and let out a nervous breath. He did not want to do this. Not here, not now. Maybe never. But she just kept staring at him, watching. Waiting.

Could he even make her understand? Could she truly fathom the violence he had tasted or the horrors he had witnessed? Wouldn't that just drag her down?

Those memories were his to carry, not hers. It was better to let them die with him.

Maybe he could give her…something, something to get her off of his back without revealing everything his mind kept dwelling on. That could work. It would put her at ease without laying even more of his burdens on her. Trying to gather his thoughts into something guarded and coherent, he stared down into the steam wafting up from his mug, watching the way it shifted as he breathed.

"I, uh…" he started, licking his lips, "I feel…I don't know, stuck, maybe."

Well,  _that_ was not what he had planning on saying.

"Stuck?" Karane echoed, lacing her fingers around her mug once more.

He instantly regretted ever opening his mouth. There was no way to back out of it now. Perhaps if he revealed a  _little_  bit without going into detail, then maybe she would leave it be and he could go fill his–or rather,  _Fledge's–_ patrol.

"How so?" she asked.

He swallowed and wiped a hand down his face. Was the dining hall warmer than usual, or was he sweating because he was nervous? No, surely not. The fire had warmed the room too much. That was all.

"I don't know, I can't…" He sighed in frustration and wet his lips. "I can't go anywhere. I can't do anything. I'm just…stuck here."

Karane gave a sympathetic smile. "It's important that you rest up so you can recover."

Pipit gave a sarcastic huff and muttered under his breath, "Right. Sleep."

Then he froze as Karane made pointed eye contact.

Oh. She heard that. Not good.

"You're not sleeping at night?" she asked, worried.

"Ah, my ribs," he amended, mouth suddenly dry. Was there a glass of water nearby? No, no water. Just tea, he realized, which was still approximately the temperature of lava. He needed to steer the conversation in a different direction. Tracing his gaze blindly along the grain of the table, he said, "I just wish I could  _do_ something. I can't fly. I can't work. I can't help with field practice." He rested his elbow on the table and propped his forehead up on his palm. "And I can't do a damn thing to help Link."

"Pipit," Karane comforted as she placed a hand on his, "you've done plenty. You saved his life by going down there."

"That remains to be seen," he replied, perhaps more harshly than intended. Her thumb rubbed circles on his hand, but he barely felt them. His mouth twisted into a frown. Absently shaking his head, he murmured, "I should have gone down there sooner."

He was not expecting the sudden wave of guilt to squeeze his chest, and it surprised him with its hold.

"Don't beat yourself up over that," she replied, trying to soothe his worries. "You did everything you could with the knowledge you had."

"No, I didn't," he said as the regret squeezed tighter. "He told me three days. I waited seven."

Anger began to stir in his belly. It mocked his prior inaction and current inability to take action. "If I had just left sooner, I could have prevented a lot of what he had to go through. I could have stopped it." He paused and tangled his fingers in his scalp. The anger was churning now, rising up from its depths in a destructive squall. "Do you know what it is like to find a loved one in shackles? Have you felt the paralyzing fear as you held them in your arms, praying to all the goddesses that they would have the strength to draw another breath? Have you watched helplessly as some unholy power took control of your best friend and used him to almost kill you, not once, but twice?"

Karane blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the new information. Her brow lifted in sympathy, but with his guilt spewing cutting insults at him, her pity just felt hollow and undeserved.

He leaned in and said in a low voice, "Now imagine knowing you could have prevented it all."

Karane's breath hitched, and she brought a hand to her breast. His nose crinkled in disgust at himself and he tore his gaze away.

The quiet left him antsy and brooding. Her questions were forcing him to realize things he had been avoiding. Things that hurt. Things he didn't know what to do with. Things he hated.

He hated how the shame he had managed to keep at bay now gnawed away at him, fresh and sharp and raw. He hated how vivid, shockingly violent images of Surface monsters, dark figures, and even his own brother flashed before his eyes every time he closed them. He hated the dull ache of his ankle, the stinging pain on his neck, and the sharp stab in his side that he felt with every step, every turn, and every breath, each one a constant reminder of his mistakes, his inadequacies, his failures.

His teeth clenched. He hated that even though he was not Link's aggressor, Pipit still felt like it was all somehow his fault. He hated that he was completely useless right now, forced to sit back and twiddle his thumbs while he waited and waited and  _waited_. He hated that the whole ordeal kept running through his mind in a fragmented loop, forcing him to relive his shortcomings on repeat.

If he had gotten an actual sailcloth before he left instead of a flimsy bedsheet, he wouldn't be hobbling around on a bad ankle. If he had trained more, practiced harder, pushed himself further, he would have been able to hold his own against the bokoblins. If he had stayed focused against the hoard, he wouldn't have broken ribs. If he had held on to Link as they plummeted towards the cloud barrier, Red wouldn't have attacked his own loftwing and stripped it from the sky. If he had warned the professors of the blinding power Link carried, he and Owlan wouldn't bear dark, blistered handprints upon their throats.

He should have been more prepared. He should have done more. He should have done it all differently.

He hated knowing everything he should have changed. He hated not being able to do a Goddess-damned thing about it.

The hand in his hair curled into a fist, and he struck it once against the table in helpless frustration. The impact clinked the mugs against their saucers and caused a cascade of ripples in his tea. Gazing intently into the disturbed wisps of steam, he shook his head again and repeated quietly, "I should have gone sooner."

Karane was silent. Shocked, perhaps. Pipit didn't care. Her hand cautiously found his once more and squeezed it gently, but she did not speak.

He had been trying not to think about anything that had happened on the Surface. Now, he could almost feel the volcanic heat at his back.

For several moments, they said nothing. The wind howled against the windows, and Pipit swore he heard the roar of battle in the swells.

Goddesses above. He didn't mean to hit the table that hard. It was a lapse in control, and he needed to reign himself back in. But with his buried memories freshly unearthed and in a chaotic flurry, control was a distant haze, an intangible ghost. He forced himself to unclench his fist despite the clawing in his gut. A shaky sigh escaped his lips as he brought his fingers up to rub his dry, weary eyes.

Maybe he was just tired. Of course he was tired. It would certainly explain why he was so agitated. Sleep deprivation tended to do that to a person. His knotted shoulders had nothing to do with the angry cries in the wind or the way the orange glow from the fire seemed to consume the rest of the light in the room. He should really just go home and get some decent sleep.

Right.

Just as he was preparing to apologize for his outburst, Karane took a breath in and gently asked, "What happened down there?"

Pipit froze. His heart jumped into his throat, and the scraps of calm he had been reaching for slipped through his fingers.

No.

 _No_.

He would not talk about that.

He could not talk about that.

"You don't want to know," he whispered, echoing the very words Link had said to him. A set of unrestrained shutters crashed wildly against the exterior walls in the storm, each clang louder than the one prior. It sounded far too much like the clash of weaponry.

The conversation needed to end. It needed to be over. It needed to be done.

Karane bit her lip and broke eye contact. Hesitantly, she continued, "I figured you would say that, but you should know that sometimes it can be helpful to…to talk about–"

"No–" he tried to interrupt, but she didn't stop.

"–things like this. You know, to get it off your chest and start to process through it all–"

He ran his fingers back through his hair and tried to slow his breathing. "Karane, I don't–

"–because if you don't talk about it, it tends to build on itself until it–"

_Crash!_

Karane startled and yelped in surprise. He was standing, he realized, gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles, jaw tight. He took shallow breaths in and out through his nose. His heart pounded in his chest. Boom boom. Boom boom. Boom boom. His stool lay on its side against the tile.

He couldn't do this. It was too much. It was too much.

"…Pipit?" Karane asked, her voice small and scared, "Are you okay?"

For a moment, he couldn't do anything but stare wide-eyed into the still-steaming beverage he had never brought to his lips. Once he could force words past the vice in his throat, he swallowed and said in the steadiest voice he could muster, "Thank you for the tea."

Then he turned stiffly and limped off, leaving his mug untouched, his stool overturned, and his confused and startled girlfriend sitting at the table alone.

His nightmares that night were particularly vivid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a the longest chapter, I know, but it's something. If you find any mistakes, please let me know and I will fix them. Thank you for reading. I appreciate all of your comments and reviews, so keep them coming! They do wonders when I am in a bad place.
> 
> Love love love, friends.
> 
> Shnarf


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